


Music in the Dark

by JennCvice



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Mystery Legends: The Phantom of the Opera (Video Game)
Genre: Abduction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gameplay, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Piano, Reconciling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennCvice/pseuds/JennCvice
Summary: Years after the destruction of the Paris Opera, the daughter of Christine and Raoul is kidnapped by the Opera Ghost. The Phantom supposedly died in the fire...so is Erik truly a ghost, or is he still wandering through his domain, seeking revenge? In order to solve the mystery, Aveline will have to play the Phantom's game. (Based on an iPad game, longer summary inside.) Erik/OC
Relationships: Erik/Original Character(s), Erik/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. A New Journey

**Hello, readers!**

**This PoTO fanfic is quite unique. It is based on the iPad game "Phantom of the Opera: Mystery Legends." I'm a huge fan of hidden object games, and this particular title is my favorite. I'm not sure it's available for purchase, anymore, but...if you can find it, it's a worthwhile purchase.**

**So, because most of you probably haven't heard of or played it, here's a synopsis:**

_**After fleeing from the Opera, Christine and Raoul begin a life together; they have a daughter, whom they name Evelina. The Phantom, Erik, is distraught, and burns down the Opera house. He was assumed to have died in the fire. Years later, Evelina has grown into the spitting image of her mother. She knows her mother was an operatic soprano in Paris, once upon a time, but apparently Christine prefers not to talk about it. As Evelina and her parents are leaving the theatre (not the Opera, as it is still abandoned), a young boy runs up to her and delivers an invitation. The wording is vague, but it demands that she return to the Opera and sing once more.** _

_**The next thing she knows, Evelina wakes up in the lobby of the Opera, listening to a male voice welcoming her back. She figures out that she has been mistaken for her mother, but she does the Phantom's bidding (solving puzzles, finding items, etc.) in order to bring him the black roses he demands. As she goes along, she discovers what happened between Erik and Christine all those years ago.** _

**I won't give away the ending, just in case you want to play, but that spoiler will be written into my fanfic. Feel free to close this (favorite/follow it first, if you don't mind), play the game, and then come back to read my story. If you're like me and you don't mind spoilers, read on.**

**Of course, I will be taking liberties with the storyline (adding in backgrounds, bridging plot holes), but I'll mostly stick to what the creators of the game generated as canon. Also, I'm changing the name Evelina (sorry pixelStorm) to a more French-sounding version, Aveline (pronounced "AV-uh-leen" - it's Norman French, in origin).**

**Disclaimers: Original novel by Gaston Leroux, game and basic story (including new character, Evelina, and book cover image) by pixelStorm Entertainment Studios, Inc. (distributed by Big Fish Games, Inc.)…embellishment by me.**

**Enjoy!**

**Jenn**

* * *

Versailles was only starting to see the first vestiges of dusk, as a small family made their way through the busy streets. Departing the theatre district, the handsome couple and their daughter conversed about the performance they had just seen.

"Did you enjoy the play, Aveline?" The mother smiled fondly at her daughter, recalling her reactions to different parts of the show.

"Oh, yes!" Aveline exclaimed. "What was it like when you performed, Mama?"

The mother's smile faltered at the seemingly innocent question. Her husband responded quickly, sensing the tension building in his wife.

"Your mother was the most fantastic singer! She enthralled most of Paris with her heavenly voice."

"That was a long time ago, Raoul," she solemnly stated.

Aveline started to prod her mother for more information, when a young boy came bounding up to them.

" _Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,_ " the boy interrupted. "A gentleman asked that I deliver this to you."

Startled by the unexpected correspondence, Aveline hesitated in grabbing the letter that was handed to her.

"For me?"

His duty done, the boy turned and ran away, without answering. Aveline stared after him and then turned her attention to the folded piece of parchment.

"What does it say, dear?" her mother queried.

"Yes, and who is it from?" her father added.

"It looks like an invitation…" their daughter clarified.

The headstrong girl declined to read it aloud, reveling in what little privacy she could manage. She read it to herself, as her parents respectfully awaited her to finish.

" _My dear angel, the time has come for you to return to your beloved Opera House to sing for me once more. I bid thee to perform one last time as both a favor for what was given to you and recompense for what you took from me._ "

Their daughter's brow knitted in confusion as she read, but they did not pry.

She smiled and looked up at them.

"I think that poor boy had the wrong person. This was most definitely not intended for me."

The family scanned the area, looking for other young ladies for whom Aveline could have been mistaken. There were far too many women to pick through. The three family members all resigned the task, reluctant that there was no definitive way to find the letter's true addressee.

Aveline threw the strange letter into the closest trash bin and made her way back to the hotel with her parents. When they had arrived, her parents resumed packing their belongings, while their daughter watched.

"Mama," she began, recalling the invitation. "What was the Opera like?" Her mother rarely spoke of her days on the stage, which made Aveline crave to hear more of what was kept so guarded.

"It was…beautiful," her mother wistfully sighed. "Opulent and energetic. Mysterious and dangerous-"

"Dangerous?" Aveline interjected. She had never heard her mother use that word to describe anything from her past.

"Well, yes. There are a lot of props, scenery, and…people always bustling about." Her mother blushed and looked at her spouse. Sensing her discomfort, he stepped in to rescue her.

"It's there we were reunited, years after we had played together as children," he smiled fondly.

"I thought you were married while mother was at the Opera, Papa?"

"No," Aveline's father continued. "Back then, she was known as Miss Christine Daae. I was enraptured with her, from the moment I first heard her sing. We married after she left the Opera."

"And why did you leave, Mama?" The girl was troubled, confused with the fount of information she was suddenly privy to. "Why did you not continue to sing, when you were so wonderful?"

Her parents looked meaningfully into each other's eyes. Her mother was the one to answer.

"Because I wanted a different life."

"But-"

"No more, _mon précieux_." Her mother's voice was firm. "Now, are you ready for tomorrow?"

Aveline sighed, upset with the abrupt change in discussion topics.

" _Oui_ , Mama," she confirmed. "I will be ready to meet with Madam Durand tomorrow morning for my first lesson."

"And you will write to us often?"

"Of course, as I find the time."

Finished with packing, her father kissed his daughter's forehead and embraced her tightly.

"I must go secure a carriage. Please be careful, Paris can be very dangerous. Do not go about unchaperoned. You are a young lady, and I expect you to act like it at all times." His words were strict, but his tone was gentle. "I love you very much, Princess."

"I love you, too, Papa," Aveline replied.

Her father left the room with the luggage, and she was left staring into her mother's misty eyes.

"Remember, you may return to Toulouse any time. There are plenty of reputable piano teachers close to home…"

"We've already spoken _many_ times of that fact, Mama," the daughter argued. "I want to be in Paris. I am only a train ride away."

"A very _long_ train ride," her mother countered. "Nevertheless, practice diligently, and I know you will make your dreams come true." Tears welled up, again, and soon she was sobbing between sentences. "You are such a blessing. I love you dearly, _ma fille précieuse_."

"I love you, too. I'll be fine! Now, go! Or you and Papa will miss your train!" They embraced and kissed each other's cheeks. Her mother wept as she walked away from her only child.

Alone in the room, Aveline sighed in relief. It had taken months of pleading for her parents to let her come to Paris. Toulouse was, indeed, a perfectly respectable city in which to receive musical training. But it had been home for the entirety of her eighteen-year lifespan. And it wasn't Paris. She had heard neighbors' and schoolmates' stories of the fabulous City of Lights, but she had never been. Now was her time to live life.

She sat on the chaise lounge that abutted the window and looked down at the street. Her mother met her father at the carriage; before allowing him to help her in, she glanced up at the window where Aveline sat. The two women waved final farewells. As the carriage drove away, Aveline's eyes raised to the horizon. She could only just make out the lights of the city she would soon reside in.

For some strange reason, her parents had refused to actually stay in Paris. They had settled on Versailles as a close alternative; for the past week, her family had seen everything the smaller city had to offer. Tomorrow, she would finally be a Parisian.

Growing up in Toulouse, Aveline had lived the charmed life of nobility. The daughter of a vicomte and a vicomtess, she had wanted for nothing…except adventure. Her parents were overprotective. When she had first mentioned moving to Paris to pursue her craft, they had refused to even allow her the possibility. She had secured tutelage under Paris' premier female pianist without their permission, but they had eventually conceded. Her determination had paid off.

Although Aveline was excited to master her instrument, sometimes she found herself wishing that she had a beautiful voice, instead. Her mother rarely sang, but when she did, her voice would make the birds nearby halt their twittering and listen. Through the years, her mother sang less and less: from nightly lullabies to occasional hummings of simple melodies. Her father noticed, too, but he did not press his wife to share her gift more frequently. Aveline could not understand why her mother had left the stage. A "different life"? What could be more worthwhile than sharing your talent with the world?

She shook her head and returned to the center of the room. Her baggage was packed for the carriage ride in the morning. All she needed was a good night's sleep and heartfelt prayers that Paris would be everything that she imagined. The prayers went up to God, but the quality of her sleep was definitely less than what she needed.

The next morning, she awoke as a child on Christmas morning. She took her time to get ready for her meeting with the intimidating Madame Durand. As she looked in the mirror, she took in the signs of her lineage. Most people told her that she bore a striking resemblance to her mother, but she felt that there were obvious differences worth noting: her hair was at least a shade or two lighter than her mother's dark brunette; her hazel eyes had come from her father; her lips were fuller than both of her parents'; and her skin was slightly more olive in tone.

She picked out a golden yellow dress with dark grey filigree and embroidery. After pulling half of her hair into a jeweled barrette, she was satisfied with her appearance. She walked to the window to see the sun's position in the sky, when she noticed the carriage parked out front.

He was early.

Figuring that the driver was as anxious to start his day as she was, Aveline shrugged and called for the bellhop to take her luggage down. She took one last tour of her room, put on her overcoat and gloves, and then made her way down to the lobby. The clerk at the front desk looked up and gave her a tired wave to match her own enthusiastic one.

Outside, the bellhop loaded her bags onto the carriage's back end, while the driver remained in his seat. She could not see his face, as he was bundled in a large cloth to stay warm.

" _Monsieur?_ Do you know where I am headed in Paris?"

The man barely turned his head toward the sound of her voice, but she saw the fabric nod along with his head. She frowned at the minimal effort. It did not seem that he would leave his post to help her in, either. Fortunately, the bellhop had remained nearby, and he was able to assist her. She tipped him well in gratitude.

From inside the cabin, Aveline heard a light crack of a whip, then the horses' hooves as they trotted down the cobblestone road. The window coverings were drawn, and she left them that way. She preferred to see nothing until she was actually _in_ Paris. In the dark, she leaned back to relax and contemplated the conversation she would have with Madame Durand.

The combination of the dark cab, her restless night, and the rhythmic motion of the carriage lulled her into a heavy sleep. She slept so soundly, that she did not notice the vial that the driver pushed through an opening in the ceiling. She didn't hear the glass shatter. She didn't smell the vapors that reached her nostrils. And she didn't feel her body slip into unconsciousness…as the drug did its work.


	2. The First Rose: Avarice

The cold woke her. She registered that she was lying on hard tile. Her eyes slowly opened and struggled to take in her surroundings. The room she was in was moderately large and contained what looked like a ticket booth, a coat check, and the largest red curtain she had ever seen. Details remained hazy, as she struggled to focus on the shadows in the poorly-lit room. Carefully, she stood up from the ground; her overcoat and gloves had been removed, and the chill in the air made her shiver involuntarily.

Before she could explore her environment any further, a low voice rang out.

"Welcome back, my love. Your presence in the Opera House has been greatly missed. This time, you will not leave me."

She looked desperately around, but she could not find to whom the disembodied voice belonged.

"Bring me the black roses hidden inside this Opera House and I will remind you of that which you have forgotten."

"I think you are mistaken, _monsieur_!" she called out to the darkness. "I am not the person you seek! I have never been to this place before!"

She waited for a response, but none came. Sighing, she walked on steadier feet to the ticket booth. It was too dark to see within, but she could tell there was a mess of items inside. To the right of the booth, a large wooden puppet held out his hand to accept…something. In his other hand, a rope connected to the curtain was secured. She grabbed onto the rope and attempted to pull the curtain, but it refused to budge.

When she looked closely at the puppet, she saw that its face had been mutilated by black tar on the character's right side.

_Ugh! Who would disfigure a puppet?_

She walked to the coat check and noted a poster advertising a past production: "Don Juan Triumphant."

On the desk, a flashlight sat idly by. Relieved to have found something of use, she switched it on and made her way into the office. The disabled circuit breaker was in the center of the back wall. It was a frustrating trial and error process, but she was ultimately able to restore light to the Opera's entrance.

The ticket booth was now fully illuminated, and, after picking through the multitude of junk that lay inside, she found a single show ticket. When she placed it on the outstretched palm of the puppet's hand, the mechanical arm pulled the curtain away to reveal a cloud of dust and smoke.

Within the fog was a figure cloaked in black. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. His face was completely covered by a white mask, while the hood of the cloak obscured her view of his head. He reached a gloved hand out to her, beckoning her to come closer to his shrouded self.

"I have waited for this day for a long time. It has always been your destiny to be reunited with your Angel of Music. Do you remember the last time we were together? Let me remind you."

She was frozen in place, unable to respond and too scared to venture closer to her abductor.

"I despaired, watching you leave with _him_. I was your Angel of Music, and you were my muse. More than that, you were my everything! I desired nothing more in life, now that you had abandoned me. I set fire to my beloved Opera, but the rage at your betrayal burned beyond the destruction that soon smoldered around me. I knew that, one day, I would have my revenge."

The smoke around him intensified and then disappeared, taking the mysterious man with it.

"Wait!" she cried. "Who are you and why have you brought me here?"

"I am the Phantom of the Opera! Come to me!"

It was utterly pointless to argue with a madman, so Aveline proceeded to walk into the Opera lobby. If he needed these black roses before he was willing to listen to reason, there was only one thing to do.

The grand foyer was, at one time, as opulent as her mother had advertised. Now, in the wake of decay and neglect, the lobby was in ruin. The rich red carpeting was torn and stained from ash that had rained upon it. Gargoyles that were the centerpiece of the room's décor were missing faces and limbs; the pieces were strewn about the floor.

She made her way to the left and walked up the staircase to a hallway. Unfortunately, her exploration was halted when she saw that the entire floor had a thick layer of ice upon it. Ahead, there was some furniture, an entrance to a grand ballroom, a marble urn on the floor, and a doorway to the right. She frowned and made her way to the opposite hallway, not trusting her heels on the slippery surface.

The other hallway was well-lit and in relatively good shape. Beautiful statues of Grecian goddesses lined the way. In front of her, a door connecting to the outside was blocked by debris. On either side of the hallway were doors leading to new paths. To her left, the doorway invitingly bade her to enter into its firelight. Before walking through, a painting on the opposite wall caught her eye.

_Is that…my mother?_

She studied it for a moment and confirmed her suspicions. It most definitely was her mother. Judging from the younger countenance, she guessed that her mother was probably close to her own age, when the portrait was painted. Her mother's hair was lighter, matching Aveline's shade, although Christine's hair was much curlier. Admittedly, Aveline was almost a mirror image of the woman depicted. The painted copy of her mother smiled humbly in her breathtaking costume, patiently allowing herself to be admired by all.

Standing in front of a picture would get her nowhere with the masked man, so she pulled herself away and walked into the opposing room.

The fireplace blazed brightly, flooding what appeared to be a dining salon with its warmth and light. Aveline found two urns with simple pictures on their lids. The marble used to create them matched the marble that sat on top of the fireplace's mantle. Just below the mantle laid a black rose, encased in glass within the framework.

She placed the urns on the mantle, on top of weighted pedestals. There were three pedestals that were missing urns. Below each pedestal was a placard with four digits. She cocked her head in curiosity, understanding that she would have to find three more like urns to complete the puzzle and, presumably, retrieve the rose. On her way out of the room, she saw a random chess piece balancing on the broken table. Without asking herself why, she placed the piece, a knight, in the pocket of her dress and continued out the door.

The opposite door led her to another hallway, bathed in a blue glow, due to the snowstorm occurring outside. The windows that lined the left side were, thankfully, all secured tightly. The only sounds were her footsteps, which echoed off the high ceiling. On the right, a locked doorway stood in her way. Examining the locking mechanism, she was able to decipher its workings and open the door. Inside, a charming study awaited her.

She first approached a chess table that sat in the center of the room. The pieces were all missing, save for the white king that stood on the board. She placed the black knight down in check position and continued her tour of the small study. A cuckoo clock sat dormant on the wall. Moving the hands of the clock, Aveline was frightened when the bird flew toward her. She screamed and backed away from the mechanism to let her heart calm down. Reprimanding herself for not having more courage, she looked at the offending bird and noticed something strange: it was holding a key. She pocketed the key, unsure whether or not she might need it.

Leaving the study, she was delighted to find another marble urn sitting on a table at the end of the hallway. She grabbed it and returned it to the dining salon, pleased with her progress.

_Two more…_

She delved deeper into the recesses of the Opera House, pausing only when she heard the Phantom's voice reverberating in the hall.

"I gave you my music! I gave you _everything!_ "

"Please," she pleaded, "just let me go! I have done nothing to deserve this!"

As if indifferent to her claims, Aveline suddenly heard the strains of a pipe organ playing a haunting melody. The music was surprisingly complex, although to the untrained ear it sounded quite simple. She could not stop herself from appraising the composition. She wondered if the Phantom had written it.

She made her way into a smaller foyer, where paintings and statues alike suffered from the abuse of time. She nimbly stepped over glass, stone, and splintered wood, only to find herself at another locked door. The key weighted down her pocket, and she smiled when it fit perfectly into the door's lock.

She opened the door to find a grand library. Gasping in delight, she stared at the many titles in fascination and awe. Aveline had always loved to read. Because her parents would rarely let her venture out on her own, the novels she had read were usually the best way for her to see what another life could be like.

On top of a pile of books, she saw another black knight. She collected it and went back to the study. Placing it on the chessboard, she muttered "check" and then glanced up at the picture above the table.

_The Green Faerie?_

The decorative advertisement was slightly tilted to the left, but when she tried to straighten the frame it fell from the wall. It had covered an elaborate safe. The door of the safe was a large grid of a mixture of single digit and Roman numerals. It seemed that each number had at least one duplicate, but it was difficult to tell, as they were in a random order. There didn't seem to be a pattern to them…what was the code? She noticed that there was only one Roman number three, so she pressed it. It took her a couple of minutes more, but she was able to find and select every unique number on the board. When she was done, the door swung open to reveal another urn.

She smiled victoriously and took the urn to the dining salon.

_One more…_

Leaving the salon, she contemplated returning to the library, but her common sense demanded that she find the last piece of the marble puzzle.

Passing the library, Aveline kept winding around the Opera's performance hall. The next corridor was a heavily damaged glass tube. She ran through quickly, hoping to find shelter on the other side. Instead, she found herself in an overgrown conservatory. What once must have been a garden of exotic plants and fountains had given way to chaos. The decorative statues were remarkably intact, but they took on a sinister appearance in the jungle-like atmosphere.

When she arrived at a gate, she saw that it led to outside the Opera. Thrilled that she had possibly found an escape, she pushed through the wrought iron and ran…into snow. She was stunned to see that, while Versailles had been experiencing mere flurries, Paris had snow in spades. Without her overcoat, she was exposed to the elements. Just as she was about to run in, she saw a light in the distance. It was a cabin!

She ran toward the small abode, desperately hoping that she would find a protector inside.

But when she reached the dwelling, there was no one there. She let herself in and felt immediate relief from the cold. The fire looked as though it had been burning for quite some time. Finding nothing in the cabin that could help her, she began to cry.

The weight of her situation fell hard upon her. She had been kidnapped by a madman who was playing some game with her. She wasn't sure if anyone knew her whereabouts. And with the weather less than congenial, she had no chance of escaping on foot.

As there was no furniture in the room, aside from a cluttered desk and a frozen chest, she kneeled to the ground and languished in her pitiful state. After the tears had subsided, she slowly rose. She had three choices: stay in the cabin and die, run from the Opera and die, or continue the quest that the Phantom had set out for her.

Warmed by the fire and resolved to not give up so easily, she left the cabin and began to run for the Opera House.

Aveline had almost reached the gate, when she saw vertical stones sticking up from the snow-covered ground. She was freezing, but what she saw made her pause. They were headstones. On the top of one of them was a four-digit number that looked familiar. It was the year of the person's death. The grave markers were too close to each other… Death… dates… The mantle!

Her hope surged as she sought to brush the snow away from each of the headstones. Each of them gave a name of a man, the profession he had practiced, the way he had died, and the year of his death. While her teeth chattered, she struggled to memorize the basics of the information, putting the dates together with the professions. Satisfied that she would remember enough of what she had seen, she ran back for the dining salon, almost tripping over a sandbag on the way.

Back at the site of the first black rose, she studied the urns. The images engraved onto the lids of the urns were simple: one had the outline of a rooted plant, another had wings, the third had what looked to be a mortar and pestle, and the last was a pistol. She recalled the professions of the men…a gardener, a priest, an apothecary, a sportsman, and an artist. Carefully, she swapped the urns until their pictures matched the dates of the deceased men that were most likely encased within them.

_Still the one more…_

The other hallway! It had been sitting on the floor, patiently awaiting her to acknowledge its existence. But the ice… she needed something to either melt it or facilitate it for walking. Melting it would take too long. Was there any salt lying about? No…

… _but there's sand…that just might work…_

She returned to where she had almost fallen, in the glass corridor. The bag of sand was small, but it was still heavy. Grunting in displeasure, she carried it to the iced-over hall. The sand dispersed over the ice, and she nimbly walked upon it to retrieve her prize. On her way to the final urn, she peered through the doorway.

The Phantom appeared to her in the vanity mirror of what appeared to be a ladies' lounge. He stared right at her, and she openly stared back. She could see him clearer, now. His shoulders were broad, but he was not overly muscular. The black hooded cloak that encased him was sleeveless and fastened underneath his neck; the sleeves appeared to have been torn off, as the edges of the shoulders were jagged and protruded from the rest of his ensemble. Underneath, he wore a long-sleeved black tunic with grey embroidered filigree that tucked into a large black belt. The belt had a bit of sheen to it, and she supposed it was made from leather. The mirror only barely showed the top of loose-fitting black slacks.

The mask he wore was a stark bone white. It was smooth, with sculpted cheeks and a menacing brow. Painted-on eyebrows gave it an angry countenance; a solitary drawn tear curled upon itself, underneath his right eye hole. The most menacing aspect of the veneer was the lack of a mouth. It was so strange, to see a mask with no opening for the wearer's mouth. It was as if no one had ever thought to add a hole or even a painted-on grin.

His eyes bored into hers. She could not tell exactly what color they were, but they looked to be a dark hue of either blue or green. The eye holes of the mask were rimmed in black, which made his colorful orbs glaringly visible amongst the two-toned attire.

"Do you like what you see?"

His words were not taunting. He was asking her seriously.

She stole away from him and grabbed the last urn to return it to its post. With all five urns returned to their proper places, the glass in the mantle of the dining salon slid away and presented its reward. She returned to the women's lounge and prepared to face the Phantom.

Unsure of what to expect, Aveline braced herself.


	3. The Second Rose: Wrath

The Phantom regarded her, as she displayed the first black rose.

"This is only the first step, my dear. Let me tell you how it all began…"

Was he an apparition? How was he floating in a mirror? She approached the mirror to listen more intently; perhaps seeing her up close would convince him that she was not the woman he thought her to be.

"The Opera was my creative property and domain. The managers who ran it disagreed, at first. When they refused to pay the salary I required, they were plagued by rather dangerous incidences that threatened their profits. They soon learned that the payments were well worth my cooperation…and the productions proceeded mostly unhindered."

The mirror shattered, and Aveline ran from the room, protecting herself from any stray shards that might fly toward her. She heard a crash and the sounds of glass hitting the wooden vanity and carpeted floor. When the room went silent, she dared to look back in.

The mirror was almost completely broken, save for a few jagged pieces that still held onto the frame. Apparently the mirror had hidden a secret passage that the Phantom had been standing behind. He was no longer there, but she had a strong feeling that he had destroyed the mirror to show her the next path she was to take.

She was about to follow him, but out of the left corner of her eye, the ballroom entrance invited her to see what it held. Putting off finding the next black rose, she strode over the sand and ice to see what lay inside.

Although it was poorly lit, Aveline could make out the figures of four mannequins. Three of them were suspended from the ceiling. The fourth was next to a large object and sat toward the back of the expansive room. When she approached it, she found that it was a mechanical puppet in the guise of an organ grinder. The puppet's hands rested on the organ's wind-up lever, and a mechanical pet monkey sat atop the musical instrument with a cup.

_I can't imagine that it will work without payment, but I don't have any coins with me._

She frowned and focused her attention on the other three mannequins. One was attached to the chandelier at the center of the ceiling, both of its arms linked above its head. If it was possible for a dummy to be held captive, this one most certainly was. The other two were a fair distance away from the bound dummy, linked together as if in the middle of a dance. One obviously represented the Phantom. It had similar attire and a full face mask, as well. The other looked…

_Oh my! Is that supposed to be my mother? What is going on?_

The mannequin had long brown curls that cascaded down its back. Aveline circled underneath it, amazed to see such a strong likeness of her mother, of herself, on a life-sized doll. She turned, again, toward the detained puppet.

_So…that's supposed to be my father?_

The overall tableau was disturbing and confused her even more. She had never met this "Opera Ghost" before. She had never stepped foot in the Paris Opera before today. Could the Phantom possibly have mistaken her for her mother? What part could her family possibly have to play, in his plan for revenge?

Shaking her head, she left the ballroom and her questions behind, continuing onto the next part of the theatre.

Maneuvering through the vanity in the ladies' lounge was incredibly difficult in her long dress. She swept as much of the glass and debris away with a mop she found in the corner of the room, but she still had to be wary of stray shards. Climbing through, she found that there was a small loft behind the mirror. Shelves housed bottles of wine and liquor, along with blueprints and maps of the Opera House. A stagehand's notes were messily strewn about. She stepped down onto a fixed stool, confused as to why anyone would keep such a small workstation. When she turned around to face the room she had come from, she gasped.

The mirror pieces that had remained in the frame had reflected the contents of the room back to her on one side. From the side she was currently on, the mirror was nothing more than glass, showing everything that the lounge had to offer.

_What kind of perverted person sat here?_

Although she wanted to blame the Phantom, the stage notes, assorted props, and blueprints that cluttered the area suggested that the spying area had originally been used by some voyeuristic crew member or manager.

She looked around and noticed a ladder that led to a lower level. She prayed that she would find a way out somewhere under the stage. Perhaps she would find a blanket, or a long-forgotten winter coat. Surely the Opera House was not on the outskirts of Paris. If she could find a way off its extensive grounds, there would have to be another business or at least someone's home close by.

Once she was down the ladder, she found herself in a basement, of sorts. There was a huge Egyptian sarcophagus, several crates that hid boxed-up contents, paintings, scrapped set pieces, and other miscellaneous items, all packing the underground space. On her right was an open doorway, but the mess inside was hardly worth picking through. It was clearly a prop room, with an array of ghastly and fantastic sights to behold. Her eyes flitted around the room and landed on yet another black knight.

_How is it that I have only found black knight chess pieces? Where are the other pieces and how many sets are there?_

She took the piece and left the messy room.

The next door she came to was to the left, not far from the prop room she had just perused. Opening it, she saw another mess of items…mostly instruments. She looked up and saw that she was in the orchestra pit. Here, the musicians would have played, unseen by the audience, even as they created the magical ambience to accompany what was going on onstage.

She rolled her eyes and looked around her. No matter how well she played, she could never hope to be a part of any production. It was not suitable for a lady such as herself to indulge in any type of working endeavor. The most she could hope for was that, after marrying, her husband would be lenient with her free time, and she could teach others a craft that she herself had mastered. Aside from playing casually for parties they would inevitably attend, her talent would never see a wide audience. A female singer could be a star. A female pianist…could be a teacher.

Only the best of the best could hope to play for symphony halls as a concert pianist. Madame Durand had done precisely that. She had forgone marriage and a family to follow her dream, for it was nearly impossible to find a gentleman that would abide a wife that completely outshone him. Aveline would be expected to marry within the aristocracy, and keep her passion for music as nothing more than a hobby.

The piano that had dutifully played for what must have been a multitude of productions was in shambles in the center of the room. Other warped instruments laid on top of it, and the charring in this area was worse than most of what she had seen in the Opera House.

 _The fire must have originated here. Or somewhere nearby,_ she mused.

When she turned away from the sad piano, the Phantom's imposing figure stood in a mirror before her, watching silently. The almost full-length looking glass showed that his loose slacks were tucked into black boots that covered his shins. It gave him an even more intimidating appearance, as if he was some Persian or Arabian black knight.

Her hand impulsively went to her pocket, clutching the chess piece that lay inside.

_A black knight…a white king. A fighter with limited resources and a wealthy dignitary. The Phantom…and…my father?_

Misinterpreting her action, the Phantom interrupted her train of thought.

"Have you brought me another black rose, my sweet?"

She shook her head at the masked man.

"Then prove your love to me, and bring me another black rose!"

Aveline's eyes narrowed in defiance.

"I will not! I do _not_ love you…I don't even know _who_ you are!"

"I am Erik," the figure simply stated.

"Well, Erik, thank you for _finally_ introducing yourself properly. Allow me to do the same. _I_ am Aveline. I cannot be who you think I am, for I have never set foot in Paris, let alone the Opera House, before you brought me here! I demand that you let me go!"

"BRING ME ANOTHER BLACK ROSE!" the Phantom ordered.

Aveline's confidence wavered at his yelling. She stepped back away from the mirror and slowly walked out the door. Behind her, she heard him call out to her.

"This time, I will _NEVER_ let you go!"

She shuddered at the threat, and continued down the hallway. She needed to find another rose.

At the end of the underground lair was an elevator. A dummy of Hamlet was stationed to its right, while another doorway appeared to its left. The lift was chained and padlocked shut. Sighing at the dead end, she instead made her way to her right, through the last doorway on the floor.

She was now, apparently, under the actual stage. Some Egyptian-looking props were housed in mini-lifts that still awaited instruction. Suspended above her was a large metal box, about the size of a casket. Her eyes followed the ropes that held it down to a lever on the right of the open area. Careful to stay out of the path of the large object, she pulled the lever and watched the box as it was lowered down to her.

It settled heavily on the ground which caused her to wonder at its contents. All she had been hoping for was a flower. Unfortunately, the container was secured tightly. It looked as though it was missing a key component from the seal it was emblazoned with. Whatever was absent had been a round disc. She pursed her lips and thought about how to go about finding the missing article.

 _Well, this is some type of pulley system for sending props up to the stage level,_ she deduced. _Perhaps what I need is a prop?_

It was as good of a place to start as any. Aveline returned to the quagmire of the prop room and began to rummage through its contents. She found a couple of disc-shaped items, but neither were large enough to fit in the seal. When she came upon a larger golden disc with an image of the sun, she prayed that it would be what she was looking for.

The disc, indeed, fit perfectly into the slot. She heard a grinding noise, as if something underneath was unlocking. When she opened the seal, she was met with a most gruesome sight.

Two skeletal hands clutched a black rose. She screamed, and she did not go unanswered.

"The stagehand, Joseph Buquet, had to die. I did what I had to, for our love."

Seeing the rotted corpse strengthened her fear of the Phantom. If Erik was a murderer, then she would do whatever she had to, in order to ensure her safety.

"The Angel of Music is waiting for you," the voice called to her.

Squeamish at what had to be done, Aveline whimpered as she tried to pull the second rose as swiftly as the dead hands would let her. Once it was freed, she fled the coffin and ran back to the Phantom.


	4. The Third Rose: Pride

When she presented the second black rose to the Phantom, his cerulean eyes flashed.

"Joseph should have focused solely on his responsibilities as a stage hand. Instead, he chose to hunt the Opera Ghost, a decision that would prove to be a fatal error in his judgment. My tolerance spent, the Punjab lasso found its way around the meddling man's wretched neck."

Aveline's hand flew to her own neck, picturing the grisly murder and the corpse that was left behind.

As her lips parted to speak, a small explosion flared underneath the long mirror. The Phantom stood calmly, unconcerned by the fire that erupted below. Aveline fled the room. Her sense of self-preservation over-rid her curiosity to question her abductor.

But, as quickly as the flames had appeared, they subsided. She cautiously peeked into to the orchestra pit, expecting to see a raging fire, but there was nothing. No fire, no sound…and no Phantom. The mirror was empty; she stepped closer to it and saw only her own bewildered reflection. The bottom of the mirror was charred, and a strange mixture of powder and ash lay in a pile on the floor.

_Is he a magician, as well as a murderer?_

Examining the pile further, she barely made out a steel key that was nestled among the grey. She picked it up and took it straight to the only locked item in the basement: the padlock on the elevator. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she heard the familiar click, and she pulled the chain off the door.

The elevator was frightening, in appearance. It was rather like a large, rickety, wooden crate. On the right wall, a colorful poster promoted a showing of _Hannibal_. The _prima donna_ featured was none other than Christine Daae.

Aveline was shocked. She had always assumed that her mother was a featured singer, from her father's compliments, but not _the_ star. Her jealousy surged, seeing her mother's maiden name on the advertisement. She would never have that. If _she_ had the voice, she would never leave the stage.

But she didn't. That talent had not been passed down to her.

She bravely stepped into the lift and pulled the lever. As it noisily ascended to ground level, she picked up a scrap of paper from the floor. It was addressed to an unfamiliar name and detailed the order of a small cast of characters: the villain, the hero, the heroine, the seductive sister, and the matron. The elevator stopped and automatically opened its door. She let the note fall back to the floor and walked into a new part of the Opera House.

_Looks like a bunch of dressing rooms… I must be backstage._

The first thing she examined was her immediate surroundings. The elevator had opened into a rather large room. It was comfortable, if a little cluttered, with a couch that had seen many performers lounging upon it. She passed a large mirror that, thankfully, only showed her own reflection as she passed by.

In the next room, bolts of fabric leaned against corners, spools of thread lay unraveled on the floor, and sewing machines rusted on damaged tabletops. On a pile of fabric, Aveline found another note. The five characters that had been mentioned on the previous scrap of paper were given costume direction: the villain in the predictable black, the hero in blue, the heroine wearing white, her sister dressed in sultry red, and the delicate matron in fair pink.

Aveline abandoned the note and walked through the doorway to her left. She had barely taken in her settings, when the electric lights flickered and dimmed. Her eyes automatically darted toward the mirror in the room; smoke appeared to swirl behind it, within it. And, eventually, the Phantom showed himself.

"You have come so far. But do you have the courage to see this through to the very end? Bring me another black rose, and I shall have no reason to doubt your devotion!"

She was tempted to retort, but she pursed her lips shut and nodded curtly. The lights returned to their normal setting, but the smoke continued to billow around both the Phantom and the mirror. She was in a ladies' changing room. The mirror that contained the mysterious Phantom was, in fact, a very wide vanity mirror…complete with a frame of light bulbs, for optimum makeup application. Opposite the vanity station was a ceiling-high set of shelving that housed wigs, makeup items, accessories, and other miscellaneous odds and ends.

What caught her eye was something that was quite out of place: a black knight chess piece. She still had the third sitting in her pocket, so she added the fourth. She hadn't yet ventured back to the study, but she had a feeling that she would be adding the two new chess pieces to the board quite soon.

Leaving the Phantom and the changing room behind, she walked to another doorway at the opposite end of the sewing hall. The doors' handles were beautifully ornate; Aveline hesitated to touch them, afraid that her fingers would mar the gold and pearl inlay. She finally pushed them open and walked into a woman's private dressing room.

She gasped.

Everything around her was lovely. This solitary room seemed untouched by the fire that had wreaked havoc on the Opera House. Unlike the rest of what she had seen, the dressing chamber was bathed in luxury. A soft purple glow stretched over the room, from what looked like black candles. Upon closer examination, Aveline realized that the candles were actually light fixtures with violet hued bulbs. Fresh red rose petals were strewn about the floor, but ended just before a strange wall.

Her eyes swept the room from left to right. A richly dressed mannequin stood in front of an étagère full of memorabilia and gifts. A vanity with several undisturbed items stood their right; of the bits and pieces occupying the tabletop, a music box without its topper awaited attention. She would have to keep an eye out for its missing part. The vanity's mirror was, mercifully, vacant. She supposed that the Phantom was still in the ladies' dressing room, where she had left him.

On the right side of the room, a fancy armoire complimented the vanity. To its right stood a curtained doorway, which, when pushed aside, revealed many gorgeous gowns and costumes. Lastly, a dressing screen stood ready to preserve a lady's modesty…if the need ever arose, again. More shelving with perfumes and makeup were affixed to the wall just behind it.

The centerpiece of the room was a rather large slab of mahogany that appeared to be fastened to the back wall. It had strange carvings that gave it a hard, yet elegant presence. At eye-level was a triangular recess…

_Wonderful…something else to look for…_

Five hearts encircled the bottom of the crest that the triangle was featured upon, with four skeletal hands holding the crest in place on the wall. The whole thing was bizarre to behold. Aveline stepped back.

Having examined the room in a general fashion, she focused on what was useful. The only thing that stood out was a pair of opera glasses that sat on the vanity's stool. She carried them out of the room, hoping that they would help her in her quest.

Aveline continued walking through the backstage area; although she would never admit it, she secretly relished being able to glimpse a world that she had always been enamored with.

When she was five years old, her mother hired a private piano teacher. Christine recognized the same love for music that she once had. Her daughter's passion eclipsed her own, and she wished to indulge her only child.

Aveline had been an apt pupil, wishing to impress her musically-gifted mother. On occasion, she would let it slip that she coveted her mother's angelic voice, but her mother would rush to soothe her. Christine would always state the same truism: "If every songbird in the heavens was a robin, think of the beautiful music that we would be missing."

Subconsciously, Aveline's free hand stretched its fingers, longing to stroke ivory keys. The occupied hand still dutifully held onto the opera glasses that she had rescued from the previous room.

She peeked into the next doorway she came to, but did not venture inside. There were many large pipes mounted in the walls, with a large boiler in the far back of the room. The heat spread throughout the entire backstage area, and Aveline realized that this was the only part of the Opera that had not given her goosebumps. Aside from its warmth, there was nothing else that the room could offer.

At the end of the backstage hall was a winding staircase. Curious to see where it would lead, she warily climbed the wrought iron steps. She emerged on the rooftop.

Snow was still falling, but now it softly floated down to the earth. She held her hands and the binoculars to her chest, trying to keep them as guarded from the cold as possible. She suddenly missed the fire of the boiler room.

Slowly, she made her way to the edge of the roof. She was higher from the ground than she had thought. And when had night fallen on Paris? Was Madam Durand concerned for her? Or did she suspect that her new pupil had forfeited her chance to study with a highly sought-after instructor? Aveline's jaw clenched in frustration. She had worked so hard to secure her spot. Would she still be able to learn from the world-famous musician, once she was free?

 _If I am freed…_ she reminded herself.

There was no one below. The Paris Opera was surrounded by businesses that were all closed for the evening. Scattered in the distance were lights of various residences, but not a soul dared to be out in the cold at such a late hour. She thought about calling out, anyway, but the Phantom's voice rang out over her.

"It was here that you broke my heart!"

The words seemed closer, this time. The proximity of his voice was unnerving, and she rushed back downstairs to the warmth and security of the backstage area. How had he known she was up there? How was his voice following her throughout the Opera House?

Arriving downstairs, she rushed straight into the boiler room. She did not wish to check the ladies' dressing room for the Phantom. If he was there, he must be a ghost. If he wasn't, then he was flesh and blood and was stalking her. Both scenarios frightened her.

She soaked up the fire's glow, trying to stay as clean as possible amidst all the soot that had accumulated on the ground. However, when she looked down, she saw that her originally pristine gown was now stained with mud, ash, and only God knew what else. A little soot would only diversify the host of elements ruining her dress.

At the far end of the room, hidden in the shadows, was a metal grate that served as a door. The locking mechanism was similar to what she had already solved on the door to the library. She patiently repeated the trial-and-error process; her diligence saw yet another puzzle solved. Once opened, there was only darkness.

On the ground, near the furnace, a pile of unlit torches were ready for use. Aveline put the binoculars down and retrieved a torch from the heap. The fire easily lit the wadding on the end, and she held it well away from her flammable attire.

The light provided an impressive circumference of visibility around her; however, the fact that she was walking in what appeared to be a dried-up sewer was not cause for celebration. She heard squeaking and the sound of small rodents' paws scratching on the stone around her. She fought the urge to scream and hurried down the path. At the first chance she had, she exited the sewer canal.

Steps led her up to a strange room. It was pitch black, which made her pause and send a prayer in thanks for the light she had brought with her. She was only able to register parts of the room as she passed: rows of pews, a broken lantern on the floor, more steps that led up to an altar with…

Aveline let out a high-pitched scream. Five cloaked figures were stationed around the platform. She almost dropped the torch, as she leapt away from them. But they did not pursue her.

She let out a deep breath and confronted the statues. Their hooded heads showed no faces, but the skeletal hands that they held out were frightening enough. For each of the figures, one hand held a stone dagger with a cobra handle; the other hand was pierced by the dagger and a thick black substance exuded from it, collecting in a basin. It was the most macabre ornamentation that Aveline had ever seen.

Shaking her head, she looked to her right, where a stone door was barely ajar. She pushed it open, expecting to see another room, but she was once again outside. From the macabre to the truly morbid, Aveline was now walking through a snowy graveyard. She was thankful that the snowfall had stopped, but the cool night air actually made the climate around her seem colder.

Sculpted angels gestured to various burial plots around her, but she headed to the very back of the cemetery. Stone steps led her to the top of an honored plot. A mausoleum had been erected to someone of prestige, apparently. The door was inlaid with four gruesome skull masks, and an angel sang a silent song at the archway of the rooftop. Statues in the image of Death were mounted on either end of the door, holding scythes and standing guard.

Clasped in the angel's right hand was a black rose.

Aveline looked around the crypt, but she saw nothing that would help her obtain the rose. It was far above her reach. Her teeth chattered audibly, and she tested the sepulcher's doors. They parted and allowed her entrance.

Inside, she saw a single stone coffin. It truly was a significant burial, if the tomb only housed a single occupant. Both sides of the room were lined with candelabras, but no light emanated from their tapers. A beautiful angel with demonic wings held a dagger aloft, ready to plunge it into the sarcophagus that lay beneath it.

The only telling piece of information was found on a small placard on the casket.

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses,  
_ _Helpless to resist the notes I write…  
_ _For I compose the music of the night._

Comprehension dawned on her.

_This is the Phantom's tomb. Have I been at the mercy of a ghost, then? He seemed so real…_

On top of the coffin were several recessed circle shapes. The circles were randomly dispersed upon and within five lines. The longer she looked at it, the more it looked like sheet music. The five lines represented a clef, either treble or base, and the holes were where the notes would fall.

… _music of the night…_

What did that mean? What was the music of the night? She did not know what went in the round spots, nor did she know how the makeshift sheet music was supposed to read.

She left the crypt and returned to her previous objective: the third rose.

There was nothing near the vault that would help her knock the rose out of the angel's hand, but searching around the graveyard yielded a most useful tool. Triumphant, she grabbed an iced-over shovel and returned to the crypt entrance.

The rose fell to the ground, and, as she picked it up, she counted a small blessing of being able to return to the warmer indoors…where the Phantom would indubitably be waiting.


	5. The Fourth Rose: Envy

The ladies' dressing room was just as Aveline had left it. And the Phantom still appeared in the confines of the vanity mirror's frame. Smoke still billowed around the image of the Phantom, the frame around him, and now the floor of the room. She didn't want to step inside, afraid of being in close proximity. The last time she had delivered a rose, a fire had burst near the Opera's ghost. The time before that, shards of glass had exploded out from where he had previously been.

She remained just outside the doorway and held up the third black rose.

"You sang so beautifully for me. I watched you from my box, Number Five, as your heavenly voice pierced my very soul. Raoul could not remain seated, he was so enraptured with you. I prided myself on how well I had taught you, and I knew that you would be mine, forever."

As he had divulged more of her mother's past, the smoke had increased to Aveline's eye level. She fanned it away from her face, not wishing to inhale any of the vapors; before she had any true cause to worry, a great gust of wind flew about the room. The smoke dissipated, while playbills, makeup, trash, and costume pieces were thrown about. The mirror went completely black, as the wind whipped through.

Aveline remained in the entry, determined to see whether or not the Phantom would appear in corporeal form. Her hair whipped around her face, blinding her during the uproar. When the mirror returned to normal, the wind subsided, as well. She struggled to right her hair, hoping that she hadn't missed anything of importance. The Phantom was, once again, gone from view. The room was now littered with a mess of items. Frustrated that she had not seen the Phantom make his exit, she grabbed a hairbrush from the wreckage and untangled her locks.

"I will _kill_ Raoul, for taking you from me!"

Such a maleficent statement could not go unanswered, in Aveline's opinion.

"Raoul, _my father_ , took nothing from you by force! My mother chose _him_ , not you! How dare you threaten my father!"

"I will have my revenge," the Phantom responded. His voice seemed to trail off, at the end of the sentence. Aveline wondered where he was heading, or if he was able to throw his voice, like a ventriloquist, to confuse her.

She dropped the rose next to the brush on the table. Nothing else in the room was useful, so she headed back to the elevator. She could return to the backstage area and see if there was anything she had missed…or perhaps the lobby.

When she reached the lift, she paused, taking inventory of what she had and what was left to do.

Two chess pieces, a pair of opera glasses…the triangle shape in the private dressing room, another black rose to find…the "music of the night" puzzle in the crypt…

She looked around herself. When she had originally come through this area, she had only quickly assessed her surroundings. Perhaps she had noticed the trunk of odds and ends that sat under the mirror, but most likely not; if she recalled correctly, her attention had been on the mirror itself, terrified that the Phantom would materialize within its frame. He still was not present, not that she could see, so she rummaged through the items.

Nestled in the clutter was a porcelain ballerina statuette. The bottom of the figurine was oddly shaped. Instead of having a base, the girl's pointe shoe ended in a hexagonal contour. It had stood on something once. Aveline smiled and brought the ballerina with her to the private room.

She gingerly placed it into position on top of the music box. The action triggered the mechanism into its song and dance, as if the ballerina was picking up where she had left off. The tune was unfamiliar to her, but she found it to be relaxing. After a minute, the performance ended, and Aveline was rewarded with a single gold franc. The coin was placed in the same pocket with the two knights.

Also inside the music box was a small oval locket. When opened, there was a picture of her father on the right side and an etched message on the left. " _Anywhere you go, let me go, too_." Tears welled in her eyes and her heart wrenched at the idea of never seeing her father again. She momentarily put the opera glasses down on the table and fastened the locket around her neck.

She left the room that had clearly been her mother's. The strength to continue came from both of her parents. She was beginning to understand what they had to endure at the Paris Opera House.

_No wonder they avoid Paris._

The lift was just as rickety on the way down to the basement. Aveline didn't realize she had been holding her breath, until the elevator had stopped. She stepped out and made her way through the familiar passage back to the ladder.

Now that she held the glasses in her hands, getting through the two-way mirror was a little tricky. When she heard the tell-tale sound of fabric ripping, she growled her frustration. The hemline of her dress had caught on a protruding glass shard. She almost laughed at the ridiculous state of her outfit, but she kept going.

She glanced down the hall toward the ballroom. Was there anything left to do there? She couldn't remember. Frowning, she returned to the mannequin display and scanned the room. Smiling in recognition, she confidently strode to the organ grinder and placed the franc she carried into the monkey's empty cup.

Truthfully, she hadn't anticipated that anything would actually happen. Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped, when the organ began to play jubilant music. Behind her, she heard the sounds of pulleys being activated; she spun around in time to see the three puppets being lowered from their spots on the ceiling.

The dummy of her father still had its hands bound, while the dolls of her mother and the Phantom held onto each other in a frozen dance.

Aveline was suddenly very angry at the picture the Phantom was trying to create. Her mother did not belong to him and never would. The audacity of the madman trying to rewrite her family's future…it was not to be born.

And then she saw a flash of silver at the side of the Raoul puppet. A small sword. She grabbed it and swung it over the dummy's hands. The model of her father collapsed to the floor, now looking as if it was exhausted from being the Phantom's hostage for so long. Pleased that she had officially ruined the Phantom's presentation, she cut the ropes that suspended the Phantom's puppet, as well. It, too, collapsed to the ground.

"Is _this_ how you repay your Angel of Music?"

Aveline ignored the Phantom's outburst and studied the scene before her.

Oddly, the arms of the Phantom look-alike fell into a position that attempted to shield the dummy Phantom's face. Something had detached; she stepped closer, wondering if the mannequin's face would show what the true Phantom's countenance was…behind their masks.

But the doll's mask was still in place and it refused to budge. However, what had fallen off was a piece of another mask.

_One piece of mask attached to the dummy's full mask? Why?_

She picked it up and examined it. The portion of mask was exquisitely detailed, whereas the doll version's was incredibly simple. Could it be another clue? Another piece of a puzzle?

The mask piece was rather large, so it would not fit into her pocket. Having the strangest feeling that it would be needed later, she abandoned the weapon and carried both the opera glasses and the half-mask in her hands. She then set out for the study, eager to decrease the amount of items in her possession.

The chess table was as she had left it. The two existing black knights were in check positions, semi-surrounding the white king. She set the mask part and the binoculars down on a chair and smoothly grabbed the two knights from her hidden pocket.

The Phantom wanted her father dead. If the white king represented her father and the black pieces were the Phantom, she needed to continue the black knights' attack on the king. She placed the third into check position, hating the symbolism that she now associated with this little mini-game. After placing the final piece, she muttered "checkmate."

It was not a true checkmate, she knew. She had played the game with her father on many occasions. But, with four knights on the playing field, the solitary white piece would eventually be captured.

A small click was heard from underneath the board, and a secret drawer popped out from underneath. Inside was a rather large amount of money. Aveline certainly hadn't been expecting a wad of bills to be hiding underneath an innocuous game.

"My salary was 20,000 francs per month. It was a modest sum, compared to the profits made by those insufferable owners."

She counted the bills and found, unsurprisingly, that it totaled 20,000₣. Obviously, she needed the money for something.

After leaving the study, she wandered around the first floor. The library, dining salon, corridors, and conservatory yielded no new information. She sighed and returned to the main foyer, where the grand staircase would lead her down to the entrance hall. As she passed the debris-blocked arena entrance, the Phantom's voice boomed above her.

"Perhaps you should see the point from which I watched you perform: Box Five!"

 _I guess I should take that as a hint_ , Aveline surmised.

She had not checked the balcony, she realized. _No wonder the Phantom mentioned it. He must be aggravated that I have not been moving at his pace._

At the end of the lobby, she saw a dark archway that had been blocked off by a single velvet rope. Unlike the carpeting, the rope was still a vibrant red. She undid the rope from its clasp and let it hang to the floor.

Once she was upstairs, she read the numbers at the tops of each door. A patron had to be willing to pay the maximum fare to be seated in a luxury box. It was no wonder that the Phantom felt entitled to watch every performance in such style. When she arrived at number five, she pushed the door open and stepped through.

"I watched you every night, from up here."

Aveline had become accustomed to the Phantom's voice following her through the Opera House. Although it sounded closer than ever, now.

She walked to her left and stepped down into the seating area. The place was poorly lit, but she could tell that the entirety of the great auditorium was charred beyond repair. The fire the Phantom had started completely decimated the stage, orchestra pit, and orchestra-level seating. Burn marks along the walls and ornamental decorations showed where the fire had licked up the sides of the Opera House, determined to make it to more fuel. She shook her head at the sad sight and walked back up to a closet that she had seen.

The opera glasses still weighted-down one hand, and she was eager to be rid of them. She hadn't needed them thus far, and she couldn't fathom that she would find a use for them, outside of this box. She held the miniature binoculars up to her eyes, and surveyed the Opera House through the magnified lenses.

They merely showed more destruction, albeit with more acute detail. Passing along the rail of the balcony, she screamed in fright when the Phantom's menacing face filled her view. He had to be right in front of her! She dropped the opera glasses and heard them shatter at her feet, as she stepped back.

There was no one there.

_He was! I just saw him! He was right at the edge of the rail! He truly IS a ghost!_

Her heart seemed to thud against her chest at a thundering pace, but she forced herself to step back down into the box. On the rail was a thick layer of dust…except at the very center, where hand-sized imprints displaced the years of neglect.

She attempted to look over the rail, hoping to catch a glimpse of her stalker, but the height made her queasy. She had never liked heights. There were some people that were incapacitated by their phobia of high places. Luckily, she had never experienced such a hijacking, but her fear _did_ limit how long she could stand being near a ledge.

After a few deep breaths, she walked up to the closet door. It was locked. _Of course._

Beside the doorway was a small wooden mannequin of a ballerina. Her eyes were closed, and she held out an empty dish. Aveline placed the money in her pocket onto the pedestal. The dish dropped and the mannequin's eyes opened, as the closet doors unlocked.

She had assumed that she would find a small area for patrons to place their coats and accessories; in actuality, the door led to a small parlor, where ladies and gentlemen in attendance could rest during intermission, away from the masses below. The Phantom, however, used it for a very different purpose.

There were hundreds of playbills in multiple stacks, long-retired props from previously staged operas, paintings of her mother, dried-out roses in various vases strewn about…

The parlor was a shrine to both her mother and theatre. _His two passions_.

She examined the room's contents, hoping that something would stand out. Something did, indeed. In the far corner, half of a mask leaned against the wall. She crossed over to it and picked it up. It was about the same size and shape of-

 _Wait a minute,_ she frowned. _What happened to the other half-_

Aveline walked back to the site of the ruined opera glasses. In her shock, she hadn't registered that she also dropped the piece of mask. When both pieces were combined, they formed an image of the Phantom's full mask, but more in the shape of an upside-down triangle.

_AHA! I know where this goes!_

She left the balcony area, rushing down the stairs and back into the lobby. Before retracing her steps to the backstage area, she returned to the Opera's entrance to grab the flashlight. If she had known how much of the theatre she would be forced to investigate, her common sense would have demanded her to retain its services. Strangely, though, it was not where she had left it.

_I know I put it back onto the coat check desk…Didn't I?_

Not having the time to ponder further, she settled on a matchbook that she'd noticed earlier in the ticket booth. She pocketed the matches and raced back to her mother's private dressing room. She ignored the rips and tears she heard, knowing that her dress was a small sacrifice to the cause.

Aveline didn't know how she knew, but she was sure her quest was almost complete. She wanted it to be over. If she could confront the Phantom, maybe she could convince him to let her go.

Once she was back in her mother's room, she placed the two halves of the mask into the mahogany wall. The five hearts that circled underneath the Phantom's mask spun around to show yet another part of the puzzle.

Dejected that there was still more to do, her knees buckled underneath her. She crumpled to the floor, exhausted from running around the Opera House. How much more would the Phantom require of her?

_Steady, Aveline…just breathe. Five hearts? I'll look around, find each and every one. I've come this far, I can do this._

She shakily stood and looked around. The only heart-shaped object that she found in the room was on the mannequin bust. Around its neck was a necklace with a white heart pendant. As soon as she grabbed the pendant, the Phantom's voice rang out.

"You shall find another in the cold."

Her brow furrowed in dismay. When she pushed the white heart into one of the recesses of the wall, it fit perfectly. Apparently, she had to look in the cold for another heart. But how many "cold" places had she been to? She figured that he most likely meant outside, so she started on the floor she currently occupied.

The spiral staircase brought her back to the roof, where she surveyed her surroundings. If she had to look for a white heart in the middle of snow, this task would prove to be most difficult. She saw nothing heart-shaped, so she returned to the backstage area.

The next place she checked was the graveyard. She scanned the snow, the tombstones, the statues…and found nothing. Her teeth chattered, and she ran back inside.

There was only one more way to the outside, to the snow: the area outside the conservatory. She rushed, again, to the other side of the opera, from the backstage to underground, through the two-way mirror and the lobby, down the original hallways and past the first rooms that she had explored.

Her reward was finding a blue jeweled heart in the knot of a tree trunk.

"It will be black, but glistening with moonlight, in a crevice within the wall."

_Fine, so the next heart is black? In the moonlight…within a wall…_

The Phantom's clues led her to believe that the heart would be on the rooftop. But she had just been there, and she had seen no heart.

_Then again, if it's black, I may not have seen it._

She walked back through the Opera House towards the spiral staircase; if she had three more hearts to find, she would need to pace herself. It was as if the Phantom was purposefully trying to deplete her energy.

Once on the rooftop, she did, indeed, find a black heart nestled amongst the rocks that made up a wall on the roof. She placed it into her pocket that still held the blue heart and the matches.

"Buried in books is the next one you seek."

The Phantom's clues were becoming much less vague. Clearly he, too, wished for her journey to come to an end. She passed through the Opera House to the opposite side, again, cursing how he was making her run laps around the large space.

In the library, a bright pink heart leaned against a pile of books on the lowest shelf. She pocketed it and waited for the Phantom to tell her where the last heart would be found.

"You'll find the last heart where the dead lie."

She sighed and began to trudge back through the Opera House to the graveyard. Stepping through the mirror in the ladies' lounge to the spy room, she was not as careful as she had previously been. Her dress caught itself, again, and she cut her hand when she attempted to free herself. Aveline hissed at the pain, and then ripped a long swatch of her dress off the hemline to cover the wound.

When she reached the boiler room, she paused.

Someone had placed a music stand in the charcoal piled on the floor. The stand had sheet music on it…something entitled "A Symphony of Fire". _If the Phantom is truly a ghost, then he must be a very powerful poltergeist, to be able to put this all together._

The firelight shone through holes and cuts made in the music, creating a familiar scene on the brick wall on the opposite end of the room. _A symphony…lines with notes…the music of the night?_

Aveline studied where the circular cuts fell, having them correspond to musical notes.

 _E, G, D, G…_ The notes were like old friends. She assumed they were on the treble clef, and she hummed them to keep them in her memory.

Below the fire-lit image, a brick was missing from the wall. Inside the gap were four black candles.

_It can't be a coincidence. Four notes, four candles… round slots, round candle bases…_

She took the four candles with her, still humming the short series of notes.

Once inside the crypt, she first removed the box of matches and lit enough of the candles in the tall candelabras to aid her sight. The first thing that she saw was the red heart that twinkled in the soft glow. The last heart was placed in her pocket with its brethren.

She focused her attention on the sarcophagus. Although she knew she needed to complete the puzzle, her body trembled at the idea of finding yet another corpse. Fighting the urge to flee, she placed the candles on the notes that matched the four-note ditty and lit them all.

The sound of stone grinding upon stone could be heard, but the mechanism was out of her sight. The coffin mercifully moved on its own accord.

There was no body inside…but there _was_ a black rose.


	6. Into the Dark

Four hearts and a fourth black rose were carried to what once had been the famous Christine Daae's dressing room. Her daughter, Aveline, who bore the objects to the room, felt the ice that had collected at her hemline begin to thaw indoors. She walked slowly, catching her breath from the mad rush she had put herself through.

Her steps seemed steadfast enough, but her heart felt only trepidation. The Phantom of the Opera would be waiting, somewhere, for the black rose that she possessed. Surely she had seen every part of the enormous Paris Opera. She was certain that the end of their game was near.

As she walked back from the crypt, she contemplated what she would say to her captor. What could she say to him that she hadn't? Perhaps, at this point, all that was left to do was plead with him. Or would it be better to just listen? He had murdered before…she did not wish to be his next target.

When she arrived to her mother's room, she placed the remaining four colorful hearts in the holes in the wall. Nothing changed.

Had she missed something?

Aveline looked at the colors: white, blue, black, pink, and red. They probably had a specific order to them. Where had she seen those colors before…

She left the room and searched for the scrap of paper that she had found on one of the sewing tables. After pushing some swatches of material, she located it.

_Ladies, the following costumes will be needed  
for the Phantom's opera, "Don Juan Triumphant":  
our hero in royal blue, his love in pure white, the  
sister in a seductive crimson, their friend in pink,  
and, lastly, the villain in black. – A._

She was about to return to the room, but she recognized the characters from another piece of scrap paper. Having used the elevator multiple times, Aveline no longer worried for her safety. She picked up the piece of paper that she had discarded what must have been hours before.

_Daroga, I am aware that Mssr. Andre has already  
informed you of the cast order. This shall be your  
last reminder. First, the villain appears, shrouded  
in darkness. Next, the valiant hero and the delicate  
matron will come onstage. Please give them generous  
lighting. After them, the provocative sister of the  
heroine will appear. She is to be bathed in a red light.  
Lastly, the heroine herself will come onstage. She  
must have an ethereal glow about her. Do not lose  
these instructions…or you will lose your job. – F._

Aveline made her way back to the private room and stood in front of the wooden wall. She switched the hearts, according to the order on the stagehand's paper. Black, blue, pink, red, and white… The ground her began to hum and quake, while the mahogany wall sank into its depths. She was unable to scream, but she moved away from the sinking wall and held the vanity table to steady herself. Her eyes betrayed her fear.

As the wall moved, it revealed a mirror the size of a doorway. Once completely exposed, the mirror changed from its reflective purpose to a window. The Phantom was backlit in the mirror, with one hand outstretched to her. The purple lights in her room dimmed, so that he was the only visible entity.

"Are you ready to end this journey? Bring me another black rose, and a new chapter in your life will begin!"

Aveline shakily held up the rose she had found in his crypt.

"On that night, on the rooftop of my beloved Opera, you broke my heart. But now you are with me…and I am whole, again."

The glass slid to the side, and the Phantom, as real as a man could be, stepped through the doorway. She contemplated running, but her body merely cowered against the vanity, shrinking away from his intimidating presence.

"I gave you everything, but you chose him over me! The pain I felt from your betrayal would not lessen with time. I destroyed this Opera House, determined that no one would sing in your place ever again!"

His hardened eyes softened at her meek appearance. He crossed by her and locked the door that led away from him. He strode back to her terrified form and stood beside her, facing the spot he had just vacated.

"Through this very mirror, I taught you how to sing."

"Why have you brought me here?" The words escaped Aveline's lips before she could register thinking them. Her hand flew to her mouth, but she stood straight up to face him.

His eyes, the only visible part of his body, raked over her. There was…longing. Desperation. Almost as if he couldn't believe that she was there with him.

"Destiny brought us both here," he replied.

He left her side momentarily and pushed the curtain away from the closet. Aveline watched, flabbergasted, as the Phantom picked out an emerald dress with black and gold trimmings. He placed it over the changing screen and pointed her toward it.

"I beg your pardon, but I am NOT going to change in front of you."

Erik's eyes narrowed. He grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her to the screen. He flung her behind it, and then he walked back to the center of the room and stood with his arms folded over his chest.

"You will _not_ be dressed as a street urchin in my realm. Change. NOW."

Aveline winced and looked down at her dress. What had once been her favorite new garment was now a stained, torn rag. She dutifully changed behind the protection of the modesty screen, wondering if she was putting on a dress that her mother had previously worn. It was most likely.

She left her yellow dress in a heap on the floor. She checked the pocket, but realized that she had used everything that she had placed in it. The barrette that had graced her locks was long gone, most likely in a snow bank that she had run past. Her shoes were in a dreadful state, so she removed them and found a like pair in the closet. Fully dressed, she stepped away from the screen and twisted her hands around nervously.

"Come with me."

Without warning, the Phantom grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the open doorway, down a spiraled stone stairway. Aveline could not pull away, or she would risk falling. Instead, she struggled to keep up with the Phantom's quickening strides.

"Wait!" she called out. "Where are you taking me? I'm not who you think I am!"

He did not turn to face her, but continued their hurried descent.

"Have you already forgotten your Angel of Music? No matter, I shall make you remember!"

At the bottom of the stairwell, the Phantom ushered her into a small boat. Her confusion and breathlessness would not allow her to question him further, so she settled herself on the wooden seat and prayed that he wasn't rowing them toward her final resting place.

"Welcome to my lair," the Opera Ghost exclaimed proudly. "Here, our lives will begin anew. And this time, you _will_ stay with me…forever."

The humble craft made its way across the underground lake, until it arrived at a large iron gate. As they approached, the Phantom steered the boat toward a lever on the side of the gate's archway. Once prodded down by the oar, the chains noisily lifted the metal toward the basement of the Opera House.

On the other side of the gate was what appeared to be the entrance to more catacombs. The boat idled, as the Phantom swerved to close the gate behind them. Aveline's heart sank in time with the wrought iron that blocked her way out.

They pulled up to stone steps, and he gestured for her to disembark. Erik tied up the boat, placed the oar inside, and escorted her up the small stairway. His gloved hand gently held her elbow, leading her on the path to his home.

Inside, candles saturated the room with their tender light; Aveline took in the beautiful surroundings. There was a large pipe organ on one end of the cavernous room, and several doorways leading to more mysterious rooms. Ecru lace and blood-red curtains hung from the stone walls, deceitfully covering the fact that they were, in fact, housed in a cave. Opulent furniture that had been collected over time was scattered about. Some of the more elegant prop pieces from previous shows had been brought down, and they both added to the décor and paid homage to the madman's love for the theatre.

"Welcome home, my love."

When she looked back to the Phantom, she found that he had been unashamedly staring at her. She blushed at the attention and pulled away. Keen on her situation, she began to search for a way out. Her eyes scanned the room, no longer appraising its contents. Erik moved to the organ and began to play the same complex melody she had heard while still hunting for black roses in the Opera House. Every door that she tried was locked. There appeared to be no way out…without his consent.

"Please, Monsieur Erik, I have done what you've asked. Please let me go!"

He continued playing, unmoved by her words.

"The first thing I require is for you to sing. My dear, it has been too long, and I need your lovely voice to soothe my spirit."

"I AM NOT CHRISTINE!"

The Phantom halted his playing and twisted to face her.

"I SAID SING!"

She had invited him to yell at her, she understood. She sighed and shook her head.

"No, please sir, I-I cannot sing. I haven't my mother's voice."

"Have you forgotten _everything_ I've taught you?"

_Why does he not understand me? Does he just refuse to listen to truth?_

Aveline slowly stepped toward him, stopping mere feet away from where he was seated.

"Please, _monsieur_ , listen to me."

She hesitated, but sat down beside him. The Phantom was taken aback by her volunteered act. He did not interrupt.

"My name is Aveline de Chagny. I am the only child of Christine and Raoul. I haven't the talent for singing, as my mother does…did." Her voice softened at the confession. "I wish I _could_ sing."

"You can," he tenderly replied. " _Try_."

Relenting, Aveline stood and tried to sing a simple scale for him. Her voice was not unpleasant, but it was juvenile in sound. When she reached the highest note, her voice cracked and faltered. The Phantom angrily stood and threw the bench he had been seated on away from them. The violent action reverberated through the cavern, and Aveline stopped singing.

Erik let out an enraged yell to the ceiling and clenched his fists. Fearful that he would kill her, she collapsed to the ground in defeat. He quickly grabbed her upper arm and yanked her back to a standing position.

"Where is she? Where is my angel?"

"M-my m-mother? She is back home with my father. I don't underst-"

"I need her!"

"Then why did you kidnap _me_?"

He turned away from her, and she reached for his mask.

"Who are you?"

Erik shielded himself from her approaching hands, then grabbed both of her wrists and held her struggling frame.

"Don't you dare raise your hand to me! What you see is who I am, who I've always been, and who I will always be!"

He let go of her hands, satisfied that she would keep them to herself. Aveline rubbed her wrists, still afraid of the man in front of her. She had tried reasoning with him, she had tried yelling at him, and she'd even tried to attack him. Nothing had worked.

 _I am still playing his game,_ she realized. _I need to try placating him. If I can get him to sympathize with me, he may let me go…_

"I am so sorry, Erik. I won't do that again, I promise."

The Phantom glared at her, suspicious of her sudden apology. Undeterred, she continued.

"I wish I could sing. I really do. Growing up, I always loved music. It's my passion. My parents-"

Erik's eyes went hard, but she pressed on.

"My parents took me to see Madam Durand, when I was eleven. I'll never forget listening to her play. I had already been taking piano lessons, but, when I heard her, I became almost obsessive. I wanted to play the piano as well as my mother sang."

He glowered down at her.

"And? Do you?" His voice dripped condescension.

"I-I'm not sure-"

He grabbed her wrist, again, and pulled her to one of the locked doors. Out of his breast pocket, he pulled a ring with several keys set in it. Finding the right one for the door, he led them through to a magnificent black grand piano that sat in the middle of a room with mirrored walls. Off to the side of the instrument was a music stand, but no sheet music was present on either the stand or the piano.

The Phantom let go of her and used his open palm to gesture to the piano bench. She nodded and gingerly sat down. She breathed deeply and took a moment to familiarize herself with his instrument.

Behind her, Erik watched in amusement as she lovingly stroked the ivory keys.

She played one of her favorite pieces. Luckily, she knew much of the music she studied by heart, and this one best of all. She had first heard Madam Durand play this haunting melody at the concert, and she did not give her parents any reprieve until they had secured a copy for her.

Erik moved to her side and seated himself on the bench beside her. Her hands hovered above the keys, awaiting his next move.

"Please," he whispered into his mask. "Continue."

She did. She focused on her playing, and, out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that the Phantom was focused on her hands, too. The last few notes called for a _ritardando_ , and she played them with as much emotion as she could possibly manage. When she finished, she shyly glanced over at the man next to her. He was still staring at the now vacant keyboard, looking as though he was in absolute disbelief.

She cleared her throat. "Erik?"

"Thank you," he finally spoke. He looked up at her and stared into her mystified eyes. "I have never heard it played so beautifully."

She blushed at the overwhelming compliment.

"That is an honor, sir. You've heard it before, then?"

He still studied her.

"Yes…it is my original composition."


	7. The Plan Revealed

The Phantom's confession shocked Aveline. So much so, that she did not believe his statement.

"It was Madam Durand whom I first heard play that piece," she explained. "It stirred my heart. I was already playing piano, at that point, but after that concert, I knew I wanted feel that way again."

She hesitated. He still sat silently beside her, staring at the vacant keys.

"I believe the sheet music indicated that a Mr. Octave Genereux was the composer."

The Phantom chuckled. "O.G."

"I beg your pardon?"

He acknowledged her, then, looking through his mask into her questioning eyes.

"'O.G.' was an oft used nickname of mine. 'Opera Ghost' is what it stands for. I couldn't very well use that as an alias for my music, so I came up with 'Octave Genereux'."

Aveline's shocked expression did not seem to faze the man beside her.

" _You're_ Octave Genereux? You _wrote_ all of that music?"

"I am and I did."

"How…"

She was silenced when he rose from the piano bench in one graceful movement.

"I was devastated when your mother fled with the Vicomte. I mourned my loss through music. Your mother was not a dancer, so she probably did not know Madam Durand. Francine played for all of the ballet rehearsals, but she was meant for so much more."

He paced the mirrored room, occasionally locking eye contact with the young girl who still sat at the lone instrument.

"After I destroyed the Opera, she was forced to teach the bourgeoisie children of the city."

Aveline winced, thinking of her own limited future.

"I could not let her talent go to waste, so I brought her my songs. She started playing in small concerts, at first, slowly gaining her footing in a difficult trade. Years later, her persistence and my brilliance led her to stardom."

She wanted to scoff at his lack of humility, but she was able to reign in the mocking gesture. He had stopped at one of the mirrors, now, and he stared past his reflected self.

"Francine Durand played _my_ music for hundreds of thousands of Europeans. I was satisfied to let her be in the spotlight…with the understanding that she would owe me a very large favor."

He turned to look at Aveline and approached her slowly.

"When she gave me word that she had been contacted by the daughter of the Vicomte de Chagny, I conducted my plan through her."

Aveline's heart began to pound and her throat constricted.

"Your plan?" she was able to squeak out.

The Phantom now stood over her, his expressionless mask capturing her complete attention.

"She accepted your request at my command. I instructed her to set up your tutorial, without actually expecting you to attend."

"My parents will notice my absence, and they will come for me!"

His gloved hand shot out and grabbed her chin forcefully.

"They will have no reason to worry, as you will be writing them of your experiences with Madam Durand."

"And when they write back? How will you intercept their letters?"

His eyes narrowed in the gaping holes of the mask.

" _I_ don't need to intercept anything," he hissed. "Francine will forward all correspondence to me."

Aveline had nothing to say to that. Apparently the Phantom's plan was, indeed, very well thought out. Except…

"But why did you refer to me as if I was my mother?"

He let go of her chin, then. His eyes still bored into hers, but they softened before he answered.

"I lured you to get Christine back. When I found out that she would be staying in Versailles…" he cleared his throat angrily. "When I found out that she would not even be setting foot in her beloved Paris, I came after her."

Aveline's mind raced through the events of her final night in Versailles. _Was he following us?_ The Phantom grazed her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. She froze and permitted the act to continue.

"You look so like her," he whispered. "So like my Christine, my love."

She pulled away at the comparison and frowned.

"Clearly, her likeness is the only part of your mother that you inherited."

His words were biting, and she inwardly cringed. Aveline didn't need to be reminded that she would never live up to her mother. She had been compared to her by everyone who had ever heard her mother sing. When she was younger, she was eager to prove that she was her mother's daughter. As she grew, the fact that she did not have her mother's heavenly voice caused her to resent having strangers question her level of talent. Christine, in her defense, would share her daughter's aptitude for piano playing. Aveline never missed the way their eyes would glaze over…everyone knew a pianist. It was nothing as impressive as an opera diva.

"Well… you've mistakenly kidnapped me, instead of my mother, and here we are. Underneath the opera house that you destroyed. The woman you love is 700 kilometers away, with her _husband_ whom she loves very much. I cannot sing for you like she used to, apparently. So, now what shall we do?"

If she had been able to see underneath his mask, she would have seen the smirk that complimented the squint of his eyes.

"I can think of something," his voice taunted.

Her innocent mind was unable to follow the insinuation.

"You could let me go. It was an honest mistake. Just take me back up, and I'll find my way back home-"

"YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!" he yelled. He grabbed her forearm in a strong grip. She struggled to pull away, but his hold remained firm. "If I'm not able to have Christine, then you will have to do."

The pain, coupled with the harsh statement, caused her eyes to water.

"So I am to be your prisoner down here? Because I am the daughter of the woman you obsessed over? Why don't you just kill me and have your revenge?"

She gasped as the words left her mouth. Had she truly just suggested murder to a madman? She bit her lower lip, wishing that she could take back the last question.

Erik loosened his grip and brought his other hand up to trap her other arm.

"There's no need to resort to violence," he reasoned. "Not yet, anyway."

He led her out of the mirrored room, not bothering to lock the door behind them. They came to another door, which he unlocked. Stepping through the threshold, a beautifully furnished bedroom awaited inside. The rich reds and deep shades of the main cavern melted into pastel and golden prints that soothed upon sight. The walls were still stone, but the candlelight added a soft touch.

"This will be your room."

"Until when?" she whined. "What will I do, here?"

"We'll negotiate that over dinner," he muttered. He left her side, then, and walked out the door. She ran to follow, but the door was slammed and locked before she had crossed the room.

She turned in a circle, slowly assessing her surroundings. She wondered if her mother had ever stayed in these quarters. If she had, it had probably not been voluntary.

Everything around her was…familiar. A vanity, a large mirror, a changing screen, a dresser…the same pieces of furniture that had appeared in her mother's dressing room backstage. They were duplicates. The bed was luxurious and large, with a four-post frame and canopy.

Off to the side of the room was a curiously big crevice in the wall. Upon further inspection, she found that it was actually a small tunnel that led to an underground spring. Steam rose from the water's surface in a slothful manner. She was too afraid of what could possibly be hidden in the depths, so she returned to the room and threw herself onto the bed.

The mattress was soft and extremely comfortable. Aveline was tired, having run throughout the Paris Opera and its extensive grounds. She thought about what the Phantom had said…something about negotiating? What could he possibly do for her?

She thought of Madam Durand. On one hand, she was incensed that her hero had aided a madman to kidnap her. What woman would do such a thing to another woman's child? To another woman? On the other hand, she was repaying a hefty favor. The Phantom must have truly orchestrated her career, if she was willing to assist in an illegal act for the sake of obligation.

Madam Durand was wonderful. Aveline could be wonderful, too. The Phantom had candidly confided that Aveline had played his piece better than anyone…better even than the corruptible Madam Francine Durand. Maybe the Phantom, Erik, could make Aveline a star, too.

The prospect of having her own career was beyond appealing. Traveling throughout Europe, throughout the world, to perform for crowds of music lovers…playing in a proper orchestra for an opera or maybe one of the new musical theatre shows that seemed to be gaining popularity. He could do that… If he did it for Madam Durand, he could do it for her.

But if Madam Durand owed the Phantom a large favor, what would be the price for Aveline's stardom?

She was not able to dwell on the last topic for long, as sleep overtook her.

Aveline awoke to the sound of her door being unlocked. Her body was sluggish from her nap, but she forced herself to sit upright and present an alert front.

Erik walked through the door and gestured for her to come to him. She cocked an eyebrow at him and looked away. A sound like a growl came from the inside of his mask. It was muffled, but present. She still refused to acknowledge him.

He crossed the room and stood right in front of her, willing her to be submissive. When he shot a hand out, she frowned and accepted it reluctantly. He pulled her from her seated position and led her from her bedroom to another bedroom. Clearly, it was meant to be his chambers.

His room was a brilliant array of jewel tones. Deep purples, royal blues, emerald greens…draped fabric of the most expensive quality was on display upon all of the walls and furnishings. The floor was an overlapping array of Persian rugs of various patterns and colors. Unlike her room and the large cavern, no stone was visible. His bed was larger than hers, unsurprisingly, but the pure white sheets brightly contrasted with the colorful surroundings. Unlike the other two rooms she had seen, there was not a single mirror.

She relaxed when her eyes fell upon the small table that had been set for two. A petite candelabra with white tapers was lit at its center, with red rose petals encircling its base. The crisp white linen cloth that covered the table looked as if it had never been used. The dining ware was polished brilliantly, making the pieces the only reflective surfaces in the room.

He escorted her to one of the chairs and pulled it out for her to sit. She did so gracefully, out of habit from her upbringing. Momentarily, he stepped out of the room; when he returned, he carried a silver platter. Unveiling its contents, Aveline was shocked to see and smell what looked to be a roasted leg of lamb with boiled potatoes on the side. He served her first, then himself, before placing the tray on a dresser and sitting down.

He looked at her expectantly.

"Um…I'm sorry," she started. "Is there a kitchen in this underground cavern, as well? Am I not your sole prisoner? Do you hold a cook hostage somewhere underneath the Opera House?"

His eyes narrowed within the confines of the mask.

"Yes, there is a kitchen, and I am the cook."

She stared dumbfoundedly at him.

"Are you not hungry, Aveline?" he questioned. "If you are not going to eat, I may as well _escort_ you back to your room." His voice was becoming venomous, so she picked up the fork.

The potatoes were excellent and the lamb was better than she had ever tasted.

"This is quite good. I was just surprised to see…" her comment went unfinished as a question sprang to her mind. "I'm sorry, but… _how_ is there a kitchen down here?"

The Phantom leaned back in his chair and rested his arms on the arm rests.

"Years ago, when I was about your age, they did extensive remodeling of this place," he began. "I had a passion for architecture, so I wanted to be a part of it. Because of my youth and my disfigurement, they refused to let me do anything more than basal grunt work. I bided my time, stealing building materials and hiding them in the catacombs or in the lake. When the job was done, I begged them to let me stay on as an on-site carpenter or laborer. I had come to think of the Opera as my home."

She ate slowly, listening to his tale.

"They refused my proposal and mocked me, calling me 'the phantom of the Opera'." His eyes twinkled, and she imagined he smiled grimly. "I suppose I should have thanked them for the moniker, seeing as it inspired my later actions."

"But how did you create all of this?" She used the fork to gesture around herself, curious as to what he would have to say.

"It took years. I didn't complete it alone. I hired men and women with no moral scruples to follow my instructions. Some of them I swore to secrecy. Those who could not be trusted were killed."

Aveline choked on her food. "Killed?" her voice rasped out.

The Phantom stood and walked to the table where the platter lay. He poured her a glass of red wine and returned. She drank gratefully and dabbed the cloth napkin in her lap on her wine-stained lips.

"Yes, I've killed. You already know this." His words were matter-of-fact, almost bored sounding.

"Right," she confirmed, wishing to change the topic. She noticed that he had not touched his food. His mask was still in place. "Are you not going to eat with me?"

His eyes suddenly looked pained. "No, I would rather not spoil your appetite. I will eat later."

"Right," she nervously repeated. _New topic, then._ "And how is it that you became such an accomplished cook? Or is this the only dish you are proficient in executing?"

He leaned toward her then, placing an elbow on the table to lean his chin on.

"Well, I _am_ French."

The laughter escaped from her lips before she could fully give herself permission to respond to his flirtation.


	8. A Bargain Struck

**AN: This chapter is a bit Steinbeck-y. Lots of description with little plot reward. I apparently have a hard time letting the reader fill in the incidentals (i.e. personal hygiene).**

* * *

The dinner was filling, but the conversation was most definitely lacking. After the light flirtation, Aveline had not brought up any other topics. Erik had ceased talking, as well, opting to watch her finish her meal. When she was finished, she gently placed her napkin back onto the table and sat back into her chair.

"You are satisfied?" he asked. He was sitting back in his chair too, elbow on the arm rests and hands clasped together.

"Yes, thank you," Aveline politely replied. "What time is it now?"

Without averting his gaze, he reached inside a breast pocket and pulled out a beautiful sterling silver pocket watch. His eyes darted down to read the time, and then returned to hers. "It's nearly ten o'clock."

"In the evening? Already?"

He nodded in response and placed the watch back into its spot.

"Why did you have me running around in circles, searching for those black roses?"

"Punishment, amusement, revenge, nostalgia…choose whichever motivation you please."

"But you thought I was my mother," she clarified. "You believed I was…Christine?"

He sighed and leaned toward her. As he did so, the hood of his coat fell back to reveal dark brown hair with intermittent streaks of grey.

"You could be her mirror image…" he said softly. His voice trailed off in bitter regret.

"Yes," she blushed. "I know. I saw the painting…well, the paintings. There are so many. Her hair is darker, now, though."

His eyes twinkled in imagination, so she indulged him further.

"And it's less curly than in the portraits. Though, she wears it up most of the time. She has a few grey hairs, too, but she refuses to acknowledge them; Father always tells her that she looks as beautiful as the first time he laid eyes upon her at the Opera."

She could not see his expression, but there was a tell-tale chill in the air. Perhaps it was a mistake to mention her father, again. It was time to change the subject, once more.

"You mentioned us negotiating over dinner?" she innocently questioned.

"I will not give you your freedom, if that is what you'll attempt to barter for," he warned.

Aveline frowned at the pre-emptive veto. A thought flew into her head, then, that refused to stay silent.

"Could you…teach me?"

She couldn't tell for sure, but she was fairly certain that he was smiling like the Cheshire cat underneath the full mask.

"You would have to be extremely dedicated." His tone was bored, but his gleaming eyes betrayed his interest in their deal. "I will not waste my time on some little princess that is used to getting her way."

"I am NOT-" she began to refute his slighting remark, but took a deep breath to calm herself. "I will be an apt pupil, _monsieur_. You shall see."

"Indeed."

He rose from his seat and walked to the other side of the small table. When he slid her chair out from under her, she stood automatically and stepped away from him. She placed her hand upon his offered arm and allowed him to escort her back to her room.

Once there, she dared to ask the follow-up question to her request.

"What will be the price for the instruction you'll be giving me?" She let go of his arm and stood by the bed. He remained a respectful distance away.

"I haven't had time to think of a proper form of payment for such a service," he silkily said. "Let me think on it a bit longer, and I'm sure I will be able to come up with something…appropriate."

She nodded and raised the back of her hand to shield the yawn that left her lips. He bowed slightly and then turned to leave. Before he left, he turned his head to the side and whispered.

"Goodnight, my angel."

The door shut behind him, and Aveline could hear the sound of the iron keys jingling…before one of them was used to lock her inside. Realizing that there was nothing she could do, she set out to investigate the rest of her quarters.

There was no closet full of clothes, like her mother's dressing room contained. She was pleased, however, to find nightgowns and undergarments in the drawers of the armoire. Behind the changing screen, there were three more dresses hung against the wall. She flitted through each one quickly, chartreuse, amethyst, rose, taking inventory of what would most likely be her new wardrobe.

She frowned at the lack of garments. Four dresses, including the emerald one she wore. Perhaps the Phantom would eventually buy her more?

Turning away from the screen, she focused on the vanity. On its table was a hand-held mirror with beautifully intricate design. Next to the mirror were several compacts with untouched powders inside. In the drawers of the vanity were many colors of makeup, although they were quite a bit darker than what Aveline typically wore. Clearly, he had stolen the theatrical makeup supplies before they had seen any use.

She sat upon the plush stool and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wild and wind-swept. She rooted through the contents of the vanity, until she found a hairbrush. Like the other items, there was no evidence of usage. Not even one hair.

If her mother had stayed down here with him, it had not been long. And yet, it looked as though the Phantom had decorated this room exclusively for Christine. Aveline could only imagine the reaction her mother would have had to this elegant prison.

She brushed out the unseen tangles in her hair and placed the brush back onto the table. Now that her hair was back to its normal wavy self, she studied her reflection. The deep green dress she wore was truly gorgeous. Absent-mindedly, she picked up small pot of rouge and applied the deep crimson color to her lips. The effect was most shocking, but she found herself imagining applying the foreign substance each night for an audience of thousands.

_Do I look like I belong onstage?_

Luckily, there were tissues on the table, so she used one to take off the offending color. Her lips still retained a small amount of the dye, but she shrugged and stood to continue her investigation.

She felt a slight breeze and turned toward its origin. Beside the crevice that led to the spring was a curtain. She had noticed it earlier, but assumed it was a wall decoration. Similar to the Phantom's many tapestries and drapes that attempted to disguise the wall. This thick pink fabric, however, was billowing.

She moved it aside and allowed the light in her chamber to flood the small space. There was a flattened porcelain ring atop a small rock cliff against the wall. Inside the ring, the rock was holed out. She could not tell how deep the chasm went, but she could faintly hear the sound of rushing water below. On the ground were various small vials. She knelt down to pick one up, curious as to what it would contain. The liquids were all clear; the one she held smelled strongly of…lavender.

Realization dawned upon her. This was a commode. Not as sophisticated as what one might find in an actual house, but brilliantly configured, considering they were underground.

She let the drape drop back into place. There was nothing else to see, at the moment. Her eyelids were heavy. The exhaustion from the day caught up with her, so she relented and changed into one of the nightgowns. She quickly blew out the tapers on the two candelabras that stood on either end of the room.

The bed was, once again, soft and inviting. She jumped into it hastily, as the thin material of her gown did nothing to shield her from the cold atmosphere. On the bedside table was the last source of light: an oil lamp. Rifling through the drawer of the small table, she found a box of matches. Relieved that she would be able to relight the lamp and candles, she placed the box right next to the lamp.

Before extinguishing the light, she looked at the last item on the table: a strange mechanical monkey sitting atop an ornate metal box. She sat up in bed and brought it closer. On the side of the box was a wind-up lever. _A music box?_

She turned the lever several times, curious to hear the tune it that would play…assuming it still worked.

As a light-hearted melody began, the monkey sprang to life. The cymbals he clasped in his hands met in a clapping motion. The noise was only a slight ting, neither adding to nor detracting from the simple song.

Aveline placed the animated instrument back onto the bedside table and turned off the lamp. The unfamiliar music continued to play, the notes floating off into the complete darkness. After a little while, the mechanism began to slow. The melody played each note as if they were words from a dying man's mouth.

Outside the room, the tune picked up in tempo. It was muffled, but she could faintly hear the organ carry on the music box's melody. However, after playing the seven repeating bars, the song continued. A baseline was added, with a more complex chord structure.

She wondered what came first: the song or the music box. Had Erik been inspired by the toy to create an entire musical composition? Or had the music motivated him to make or commission the music box? Her ears registered that the Phantom was still playing on the old organ, but her eyes were too heavy to remain open. The simple musings were the last thing on her mind before she fell asleep.

The night passed peacefully, with Aveline kept warm under the layers of covers. Her body did not stir, as it regained the rest it had been deprived of within the past day and a half.

In her dreams, she was playing in a large concert hall. The mostly blurred faces in the crowd showed no one of recollection. Then one of the faces became clear. It was her mother. Another face nearby was revealed as her father. Both of her parents looked worried, so she smiled reassuringly back. She knew what she was doing. Another face…Madam Durand…at least the woman had the decency to look ashamed. And something else…envious? She searched the crowd for more familiar faces, but they were all still inconsequential blurs. She turned her eyes toward the offstage wing of the theatre. The Phantom stood in the shadows, his mask the only visible part within the darkness. The mask nodded, willing her to begin her performance…her debut.

Waking up was difficult. Her mind was still thick with sleep, and she was surrounded by pitch black. When she was unable to stand being stuck in bed any longer, she felt around for the box of matches on the table. It took several tries, but she was finally able to light the oil lamp.

She sat up and stretched. Her weary limbs were officially sore from the strenuous activity of the previous day. Racing up and down stairs, climbing ladders, and maneuvering through passages had taken their toll.

Braving the cold, she nimbly stepped through the room, desperately wishing that there was a clock within its confines. She made her way to the dresser and exchanged her nightgown for undergarments. After doing that, she used the commode, still marveling at the fact that this stone fortress had a functional lavatory.

She then returned to the three dresses hanging near the screen. The deep purple dress seemed most appealing to her, at that moment, so she outfitted herself. The material and trimmings were much simpler than the bright green gown she had worn yesterday, but it was a great deal more comfortable. Bits of ecru lace lined the bodice and cuffs of the dress, which still made it a vestment much too dressy to wear in an underground cavern. She put the same black boots on, and, after a thought, tied a black velvet ribbon from the vanity onto her neck.

Ready for the day, she headed for the door. The faint sounds of a piano could be heard through the thick door. Her hand barely touched the handle, before she remembered that she had been locked in. But when she turned the handle, it opened readily.

_When did he unlock it? And why did I not hear it?_

The fact that he had unlocked the door without her knowing disturbed her to no end. She worried about what else could have transpired while she slept so soundly.

Outside her door, the organ sat unoccupied. The candlelight was less brilliant, as many of the candles were unlit. On the far side of the large space was the corridor that would lead back down to the lake. When she looked to her right, she saw that the piano room door was open. The song the Phantom played was resonating through the cavern. She supposed that he expected her to walk through the door at any time.

Her eyes wandered back to the corridor. It would lead to a stairway that would end at a platform. And against that concrete slab would be a boat with an oar inside. Would she be able to navigate back to the winding stone staircase? Could she figure out the gate mechanism blocking her way? Was there, perhaps, another way out?

She started toward the corridor, but stopped mid-stride when the doorway to the mirrored room came into view. The Phantom sat at the bench, playing passionately, with his back to her. Trusting…or maybe just confident that any escape attempt would be easily thwarted.

The uncertainty was what changed her mind. Not knowing, for certain, that she would be able to escape. The fear that, if she failed, he would be angered…and what he would do in retribution.

 _Not today…_ she resigned, as she walked toward the mirrored room.

No sooner did she walk through the doorway that he greeted her, his back still toward her.

"Good morning, Aveline," he cordially spoke. His hands still fluidly played the charismatic piece.

"Is it morning? I haven't anything to reference the time of day. No clock, no sun in the sky…"

"Does it really matter? You have just awoken; therefore, it is morning for us."

She rolled her eyes, unable to refute his subjective logic.

He continued playing, and she paced the room, listening. She did not recognize the piece, but it sounded…jubilant, spirited. When he had finished, she turned to face him. He was staring at her, again. He sat on the bench, with his hands on his thighs.

Slowly, he stood and beckoned her to be seated.

She obediently crossed the room and sat upon the bench, adjusting her position to a comfortable distance from the keyboard. There was no music on the rack, so she awaited instruction. He stood at her back. She tensed at the awkward silence.

"What shall I play?"

"A scale, any scale."

Aveline let out a very unladylike snort, then blushed furiously.

"I beg your pardon, _monsieur_ , but a scale? Truly? I am not a beginner."

"You will infuse emotion into a scale," he ordered. "If you can make the simplest of skills evoke a passionate response, you will be ready to play my music."

She shook her head, but placed her fingertips upon the ivory keys.

"Now," he spoke softly, "let's begin."

Her fingers pressed down, and her hands moved in synchronization. When she finished, she put her hands into her lap and awaited his assessment.

"That was entirely uninspiring," he dryly said. "What emotion, other than boredom, were you attempting to convey?"

"It's a _scale_ ," she hissed. "An artless precursor and exercise to _real_ music."

"Without emotion, _real_ _music_ is as 'artless' as a scale!"

Aveline pursed her lips in frustration. She completely disagreed, but it was useless to argue with him. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, she flinched. His hold was firm.

"You made the right decision," he remarked. Confused by what he was talking about, Aveline stayed frozen. "You would not have made it far, but nonetheless…I am pleased that you passed your first test."

"Test?"

"Do you really think I would be so careless as to leave your room unlocked and the way to your freedom unblocked? After all the planning to get you here, the puzzles I crafted, the care I put into _everything_ …you believe me to be that stupid?"

"I-I don't believe that," she stammered out.

"Indeed." He removed his hand from her shoulder and Aveline relaxed.

He walked to the other side of the piano and faced her. She brought her hands back up to the keys.

"Try again. Play an emotion."

Aveline sat for a moment, contemplating how she would fulfill his request. Taking a deep breath, she played the scale, again, overlapping the notes with both hands. Certain notes were played so softly, they equated to a whisper. Others were played with a strong strike. At times, conflicting notes created ugly dissonance. It _was_ a scale, but much more complex than the one she had played before. When she finished, she placed her hands back into her lap.

While she had played, he had turned toward the mirror. She saw his eyes creased for what she hoped was a smile. When he spoke, his tone was amused.

"Fear."

He turned around and stepped toward her.

"Much better."


	9. Playing with Emotions

The Phantom's expectations were ludicrously high, in Aveline's opinion. The small amount of accomplishment she had felt when he had praised her emotive scale was, in the next second, dashed.

"You chose fear as the first emotion, quite unsurprisingly. Show me that you can do more. Make me feel something different."

He still stood a few feet from her, but she shuddered at his command. What kind of lesson was this?

"Did you not compliment my playing of your piece yesterday? You said, as I recall, that you had 'never heard it played so beautifully.' Why, then, must I go through this exercise?"

He took another step toward her so that he could rest his hand atop the piano.

"While you played for me yesterday, what did you _feel_?"

She contemplated what he asked.

"I don't know, I felt…I felt joy. And longing. It's a complicated piece-"

"It is complicated because you made it that way. You infused it with a piece of yourself. And, in doing so, you interpreted it in a way that was entirely your own."

Aveline did not answer.

"Play me another emotion."

"May I _please_ just play something else from memorization?"

"PLAY!"

The one word echoed through the room, terrifying her. She bit her lip in concentration, wondering how else she could emote through a scale. She had already chosen fear. What next?

She took a deep breath and began to play, again. The notes were struck jubilantly, moving at a feverish pace and jumping off the keyboard in an extremely clipped staccato. Ultimately, she was uninspired, but she was eager to have him approve, hoping that the next time she played it would be something much more advanced.

After she finished, she looked to him, awaiting his appraisal. He narrowed his eyes through the slits of his mask, before turning away from her.

"I assume you meant to play as if you were happy. It was rather…forced. And juvenile. Perhaps I am wasting my time."

"This is the first day! You need to give me time to adjust! Especially considering the fact that I'm not familiar with your rather _unique_ teaching method." The words came out with a biting tone, pushed to the point of being defensive.

"Time to adjust?" he questioned. "Very well. I shall give you plenty of time."

He started to cross the room, towards the exit.

"I would suggest using your next few hours to practice. As you should have been taught, practice makes-"

"Perfect?" she finished.

He stopped before he walked through the door.

"No," he said derisively. "Permanent."

Aveline was alone, then. The door was shut, but not locked. She had turned to watch him leave, wondering what to do next. Turning back to the piano, she sighed in dismay.

_If he's not going to observe, then I'll play whatever I please._

She rolled her head gently from side to side, trying to ease the tension that still resided within her shoulders. Her hands hovered above the keys, contemplating what to play.

Her frustration and anger led to a spirited piece, also written by the evasive "O.G.". Normally, when she played this particular composition, she was in a happier mood. Vexed as she was by the Phantom, she pounded the keys mercilessly; the rage-filled music vibrated the mirrors and ricocheted off the stone ceiling.

When she finished, she breathed deeply.

_I can play with emotion, thank you very much!_

Aveline stood and strode toward the door. When she opened it, she screamed, seeing the Phantom right in front of her. He made no effort to apologize for scaring her; he opted, instead, to walk past her, back into the room.

"There!" he exclaimed. "I heard it! I heard the fury, the outrage, in your playing. Use _that_ and play me another scale."

Overwhelmed by her fear and anger, she glared at him incredulously.

"You just heard me play another of your pieces," she doled out. "I assume you feel I did an adequate job?"

He walked closer to her, looming over her petite frame.

"That's not exactly how I meant for it to be performed."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she challenged.

"It's a celebratory selection of music. Proud and triumphant. You played it as hatefully as possible, in a childish effort to vex me. But you _were_ able to tap into an emotion," he explained, "despite the fact that it was the wrong one."

He led her back to the cushioned piano seat and motioned for her to sit. She reluctantly complied.

"Now," he continued, "play."

Using the frustration and resentment that boiled inside of her, Aveline played yet another scale. Her hands played identical notes, octaves apart. The music swelled in a crescendo that peaked at the highest note. The Phantom stood right beside her, staring down at her seated form. When she completed the scale, she quickly folded her hands into her lap; she stared straight ahead, no longer curious to see her tutor's response.

"Very good," he began. "If you could only harness your emotions without being provoked, we could move on to something more interesting."

She turned to look up at him.

"I beg your pardon? Harness my emotions without being provoked? What is the meaning of-"

"You lack the propensity to infuse the correct mood into what you play."

"But, I-"

"You played in reaction to the feelings I inspired within you," he went on, walking away from her. "I threatened you, you played fearfully. I angered you, and you tethered your fury to the simplest of chromatic scales."

He turned to face her, then. She remained silent, tired of being interrupted.

"A musician is an actor. We simply use a different medium."

The Phantom strode back to her side and knelt next to her.

"An actor has a script, I have a score. They use their voices, we use our instruments."

His eyes penetrated deeply into her own. She could tell that he desperately wanted her to understand the point he was making. Truthfully, she was enraptured with the idea of his comparison.

"And without emotion, without _true_ , unadulterated, genuine emotion, none of us creates anything of value."

Standing from his kneeling position, he loomed over her.

"If the emotion with which you play is shallow, so, too, shall be the product you create."

He reached a gloved hand out to cup her chin. She froze, unsure of how to receive the gentle gesture. Her hesitation gave him the leeway to do as he intended, and he tenderly held her gaze to his. She held her breath when he stroked underneath her lower lip with his thumb.

"That is why you are playing scales, Aveline. You must learn to play sincere emotions, nothing feigned."

She nodded, mesmerized by the new concept. He dropped his hand back to his side and stepped away from her.

"You must be getting hungry. I'll prepare a meal for us, while you practice."

Aveline frowned and looked down, unsure of how to "practice" emoting. As if aware of her unspoken confusion, Erik elaborated.

"Some actors recall memories to bring authenticity to their roles. I would suggest you start there. Use a moment from your past, a significantly emotional moment, and tie the feeling that it gives you to the piano in front of you."

Before he left the room, he mentioned returning to escort her to where they would eat. Aveline was unable to concentrate on those trivial last words. She was still reeling from his emphatic lecture. And, strangely enough, it all made sense to her.

The Phantom was her fourth instructor. Her first teacher had been one of the servants in her home. The woman was decently versed in the piano, for her station. When Aveline had surpassed the limited knowledge of the maid, Christine and Raoul had arranged for a local piano tutor to continue their child's training twice a week. Aveline had learned a great deal from Madam Castille. Her last instructor, Monsieur Broussard, had been secured through much finagling by her father. Monsieur Broussard was a retired performer, well-respected and not entirely pleased to be instructing the teenage daughter of a prestigious family. He had focused on Aveline's technique, until her fingers flew with ease and precision over the ivory keys.

Emotion had never been the most important aspect of her playing. Erik's method was an entirely new school of thought. He was the teacher, she was the pupil. To argue with his logic was futile.

_A significantly emotional moment…_

_It was only two years ago, and she was the tender age of sixteen. She had a new piano instructor, Monsieur Broussard. He had a younger son with his second wife. Damien was in his mid-twenties, exceedingly handsome and unmarried. Every so often, he would accompany his father to his tutoring session with the pretty little rich girl. Aveline looked forward to seeing Damien more and more with each passing day._

_Once, after a particularly frustrating lesson, Aveline had actually been happy to see both him and his father leave her home. Monsieur Broussard left in a huff, aggravated with his pupil. She felt her face flush with anger, as the older gentleman stormed out. She expected the son to follow, but he simply stood and stared at her with an amused grin._

_He strode toward her, and she felt a million things at once. Fury, trepidation, nervousness, desire, embarrassment… When he was standing right in front of her, all emotion flushed from her system, save for a shy hope. His grin straightened out to a very thoughtful look. He studied every feature of her, and she held her breath as he did so._

_Just as she was about to speak, he put his arms around her. A gasp was barely able to escape her throat as his lips crashed to hers. She immediately went limp within his embrace, shocked that a fantasy of hers had become reality. Almost as quickly as it had happened, it concluded._

_He pulled away and her half-lidded eyes struggled to focus upon him. Her body had regained some semblance of posture, and her arms reflexively went to reach for his body. Damien laughed. The unexpected sound roused her from her trance and left her utterly confused._

" _How sweet," he cooed at her._

_She smiled, too naïve to understand that she was being teased._

_He turned on his heel and left without glancing back at her. She dreamt of him that night, that a grand romance would bloom and lead to their inevitable engagement. The next morning, she heard that he had proposed over a month ago to a girl older than herself._

_Aveline felt…_

_Hope…heartbreak…shame._

Her hands were already playing, idly compressing the ivory in an unhurried manner. As if they were providing music to accompany her thoughts.

It was a release like she had never felt before. She had used music as an escape, as a way to meditate. But she had never purged her emotion in such a passionate display. It was more than just relaxing. It was freeing.

For the first time since she had first awoken in the lobby of the opera house, Aveline felt as free as a bird.

Tears seemed to appear out of nowhere, but she felt two voluminous drops caress her cheek in their descent. She stopped playing abruptly and hastily wiped the wetness away.

Aveline heard the Phantom enter behind her. A deep breath was all it took to put her back to rights.

"That was quick," she commented, her back to him.

"I was away for almost two hours," he replied. " _I_ wouldn't describe my absence as brief."

"Two hours?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand appear, ready to help her stand. She placed her hand in his and followed him out of the mirrored room. He was always leading her, and she was always following. They made their way back to his room, where the small table was once again set. Atop a dresser, a gleaming silver platter with its lid awaited them.

Aveline automatically walked toward the seat she had previously occupied and allowed Erik to help her sit. While he served her, he began a new conversation.

"It occurred to me that I might see more success from you if I demonstrated what I am teaching."

Having been served a white wine to compliment the fish he had cooked, Aveline sipped politely and let him continue.

"I have only had two other students, aside from yourself: your mother and Francine Durand. I am not used to altering my methods to fit the pupil. Christine was my protégé. When I gave her instruction, she immediately and proficiently applied it."

His eyes softened, as they always seemed to do, when speaking of her mother.

"She did not need to learn by example," he directed at Aveline. Instead of the soft expression, his eyes were now glinting at her…mocking.

"Francine was, too, an apt scholar. She was eager to please, and she had enough life experiences from which to draw the most vivid of emotions."

Aveline clenched her jaw mid-bite, struggling not to roll her eyes. If there was one thing she hated, it was being compared to others. It simply wasn't fair.

"I realize that you are still young and that you may be lacking familiarity of the gambit of emotion you will need to become a great artist. And that is not your fault. I will do everything I can to remedy your handicap, so that you may reach your potential. Even Francine, with all of her talent and experience, was still unfamiliar with the most driving emotion of all."

He leaned in toward her then, his eyes alight with a look that Aveline could have sworn was mischievous.

"I dare say, I may have to teach you the same lesson I taught her…"

Aveline's brow creased in confusion, but she was unwilling to ask him to elaborate.

The Phantom stood and covered the remainder of the food. His portion was left untouched, sitting atop the dresser. He stood with his back to her, while she quietly chewed. When she had finished, she laid the cloth napkin on the table. As she stood, he instantaneously appeared behind her chair to pull it out.

"If you are ready, I will show you how emotion affects our craft."

He led her back out of the room, back to the same black grand piano. She stood a comfortable distance away and placed her hands behind her back.

Every pianist has a routine they go through, before playing. Aveline watched Erik sit upon the bench and lean in toward the keyboard. His hands slowly raised to the keys and tensed before relaxing.

He played a languorous tune that was simple, but very pleasant. _Dreamy_ , thought Aveline. She closed her eyes to study the music, to focus solely on what she heard. Four of the notes were familiar… _E-G-D-G…the notes from the crypt puzzle…the "music of the night."_

She listened to the _crescendos_ and _decrescendos_ , the dynamic rises and falls, within the composition. Erik seemed to have reached a passable ending; when he stopped playing, it was not abrupt, but Aveline sensed that there was more left to play. Her eyes opened and she stared at the Phantom's back.

"Another of my pieces," he elaborated. "One I am particularly fond of. Now, with emotion."

He began to play again, and his entire upper body moved and swayed with his passionate playing. The song was the same, but the mood had utterly changed, despite the similar tempo. It was seductive, enigmatic…even without lyrics. Aveline closed her eyes, again, determined to focus on the music and not on her rising body temperature.

"Silently the senses abandon their defenses, helpless to resist the notes I write…for I compose the music of the night…"

One eyebrow raised in acknowledgment of the words found on the Phantom's empty tomb. She smiled and opened her eyes, when he finished playing the entire piece. He turned to face her, and she prayed that she did not appear flushed.

"Did you hear a difference?"

Aveline nodded.

"I would prefer an audible answer, please."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Was there a difference in technique?"

"No," she admitted.

"Do you understand what I am asking of you and the value of mastering your emotions as they pertain to your music?"

"Yes."

"Good," he murmured, standing to leave the bench. "Then let's start over."


	10. Awaiting an Answer

_My dear parents,_

_I am sorry I have not written sooner. I was adjusting to imprisonment…_

No. There was no way she would get away with that.

_Dearest Mother and Father,_

_How could you NOT tell me of your experience at the Opera Populaire in Paris? I was blindsided by the Phantom, and now I will never see you again, and it is all your fault! I hope that you…_

Her pen stayed hovered above the parchment, while her thoughts raced with everything that she wished she could say. Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath.

_My dearest Mother and Father,_

_I have been very busy adjusting to Madam Durand's teaching and instruction. I am so sorry I did not write sooner. Although it has been difficult to be away from you, I have to admit that I have learned so much already. The lessons are most immersive, and I think that I am improving. Part of me wishes that I had stayed with you and patiently awaited another tutor to come to our home. I suppose the rest of me is resigned to the fact that, had I stayed at home, I probably would not have progressed further._

_I feel a bit torn in two. I do miss you terribly. Paris is different than I anticipated. I can see, now, why you refused to stay here. But I am mostly settled, now. I am unsure of when I will be able to return for a visit. Madam Durand is very strict on such things. I will write to you, again, when I have an answer from her._

_My greatest hope is that, once the madam says I am ready, you will be able to hear me play and hear marked improvement in my ability. Madam believes that, one day, I will be playing grand concerts, as she once did. As my parents, you are hereby given notice that you shall be present at every concert I play, and waiting to greet me afterward with an inordinate number of roses. Should I play outside of France, let's say, for the Queen of England, you shall coordinate a bouquet to be sent from a local florist in my location. As your one and only beloved child, I am certain this request is perfectly attuned to what your plans already were._

_In all seriousness, I love you both. So very much. I pray you are both well and that you will write to me soon to tell me all about home and what has transpired since my departure._

_With all my love and admiration,_

_Your Aveline_

She fanned the ink to speed its drying, and then she walked toward the dress she would be wearing for the day. It had only been about two weeks that she had stayed within the Phantom's domain, but she already had a routine. She awoke, readied herself for the day, ate whatever the Phantom prepared for their breakfast, played through scales and light compositions, had a light lunch, played more complicated movements and pieces, dined with her tutor, returned to her room to prepare for bed, had some personal time to write out her thoughts or little compositions that played in her mind, then drifted off to sleep.

The Phantom, Erik rather, would sometimes sit in on her playing and give copious amounts of feedback and instruction. Sometimes he would barely say a word, but simply listen and get lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally, he would not accompany her at all. She believed that, when he was nowhere to be seen, he had stolen up to the city to secure more accoutrements for their lives below ground.

He was always present for dinner. His meals never disappointed. Neither did his taste in wine. Aveline did her best to enjoy his company and conversation. She figured that gaining his trust would be beneficial, should he ever finally deign to take her with him on one of his trips. He was clearly very educated, most likely through extensive reading. He seemed knowledgeable, but unpracticed, in much of the dealings of the world above them.

He knew, for instance, much about the Notre-Dame de Paris. When the building on it started and ended, how high it reached, how many bells were housed in its towers. But, when probed, he couldn't answer how beautiful the stained-glass windows were or how many times your voice would echo throughout the high ceilings.

He understood how to cook, but he always seemed pleasantly surprised that Aveline approved of his dishes. He picked the wine to go with their meals methodically, as if he had been told what spirit to pair with what dish. Aveline watched as he sipped each new glass, and his eyes almost always widened behind the eyeholes of his mask as if he were unfamiliar but relieved with what he himself had chosen.

She suspected that, aside from music, his suave demeanor was yet another mask that he held before him, hiding the ignorance that would detract from the sophisticated persona he had cultivated. To his credit, Erik never gave false information. If he didn't know how to answer one of her questions, he would usually hesitate before steering the conversation into more comfortable territory.

He rarely played in front of her, but she heard him play daily. She awoke to his music and fell asleep to him playing. He seldom played one of his own compositions, instead choosing to focus his energy on new pieces. Her own musical musings usually stemmed from what she heard through the doorway.

Aveline put on the newest dress in her little collection. It was a dark garnet red, with beautiful embroidered flowers in shades of ivory and pale pink across the bodice. She had given up trying to fully do herself up when the only person she was around was technically also her captor. She put on the most comfortable shoes she had, the ones she wore every day. Her hair was brushed, and she placed half of it up in a simple twist held in place by a single clip. It only needed to be out of her way to be able to play.

When she returned to her letter, she checked the ink to make sure it was mostly dry. Satisfied that her message would not smear, she folded it up. The paper, quill, and ink had been tucked into a drawer next to her bed. She looked at the folded letter and realized what was conveniently missing. Her lips pursed in annoyance.

She emerged from her room and noticed that her breakfast tray was still sitting outside the door leading to her bedroom. The Phantom had not yet, apparently, picked up the discarded tray. She picked it up, placed the letter in her pocket, and strode toward _his_ room. Arriving at his door, she knocked politely and waited for his answer.

He opened the door moments later, very well-dressed. Moreso than usual. She assessed his appearance and deduced why he had made more of an effort to look professional.

"Good morning, which, of course, _still_ makes absolutely no sense to say, because I have no idea where in the sky the sun is, at the moment."

His eyes narrowed to slits behind the full mask.

"Good morning, Aveline. You seem to be in high spirits today." He glanced down to the tray she was holding and took it from her. He turned to place the large dish on the table in his room, and she followed behind him. When he turned to face her again, she held the letter out to him.

He took it without a word and unfolded it to read the contents.

 _Just as I thought. It's not like he would let me send any correspondence without making sure that I was properly censured._ She huffed internally, and her jaw clenched.

When he finished reading the letter, he crossed to his bedside and rifled through the drawer in the nightstand. He pulled out a small wooden box and placed it and her letter upon a writing desk in the far corner of the room. Aveline walked toward where Erik now sat, curious to see what he was up to.

Without looking at her, Erik spoke. "You did well. I appreciate that you were guarded with your information. I imagine, if I had given you the ability to seal your own letters, you might have been a little less private about your present situation."

Aveline flushed at this truth, but she did not respond.

Erik melted one of the wax pieces on top of the refolded letter and pressed a dainty seal into its center. Aveline noted the golden seal…a rose. _Pretty_ , she admitted. If she had seen the seal in a shop, she mostly likely would have purchased it.

"I will send it out today," Erik stated, standing and walking back toward the door. Aveline followed him, again.

"Are you leaving? Are you going into Paris?"

"How else am I to post your letter?" They exited the room together and he moved to lock his door. Aveline stepped to the side to avoid his path.

"Where else will you go, besides posting my letter?"

"I need to buy groceries for tonight," he hesitated before continuing. "And I need to speak to Francine."

"Madam Durand? What do you need to discuss with her?"

He eyed her thoughtfully. "As this is your first correspondence, I need to finalize a method for how she will alert me to your parents sending you a response. I think checking in with her weekly should be sufficient."

Aveline's jaw ticked; she hated having her life run for her. _This is why I wanted to find my freedom in Paris. Instead, I'm at the mercy of another agent of control._

"Will _I_ ever actually _meet_ Madam Durand? _Francine?_ " The words were more bitter than she intended.

Erik looked surprised. His eyes, rather, looked surprised, as that was still the only part of his face that was visible.

"I'm not sure you have a reason to. She was my puppet, as far as you are concerned. I was _her_ instructor. And now that you have the incredibly talented, albeit reclusive, genius Octave Genereux tutoring you, why should you meet another of his pupils?"

Aveline huffed at his response.

"Besides," he added. "I'm not sure she wants to meet _you_." His tone was teasing, which mystified Aveline. He took her elbow and escorted her to the practice room.

"Now, it's time for you to play." He pocketed the letter and opened the door for Aveline. Still leading her, he brought her all the way to the bench and helped her to sit. "I will be back before lunch."

Aveline rolled the question around her head that she was wanting to ask. She wasn't sure how the conversation would turn. She didn't want him to become angry with her. She called out as he left the confines of the room.

"Wait!" He stopped and turned to face her, swiveled on the bench to meet his gaze. "You read my letter. When will I be able to visit my parents? You cannot keep me here forever. If my parents do not see me within a few months, they will insist on coming up to find me!"

Erik barely reacted. "I shall discuss that with Francine, as well. We will come up with a plan for you to either be chaperoned or for you to meet them in Paris." He turned to leave. "On MY terms."

He shut the door and left her in solitude. She wondered what kind of arrangement could be made wherein she would be unable to flee from the Phantom. How could he stop her? She fantasized about seeing her home, again.

She rolled her shoulders, arched her back, and let her head swivel upon her neck from side to side. Her fingers were still stiff from her morning activities, so she shook them out and flexed and curled them into fists. After stretching her arms above her head, she placed her hands on the ivories and played some simple scales.

Aveline thought back to her first night in this very room. How desperately the Phantom had wished her to be her mother or a younger copy of her mother. His chiding of her musical ability. Him trying to make her infuse emotion into her playing of scales.

She let her fingers skip across the keys. Her thoughts drifted back to her home and the most pleasant memories she had from there. _Happy_. Her hands played softly, going up and down a minor scale. She thought about how much she missed seeing the sun. How much her life had changed since arriving in Paris. _Melancholy._ She continued to play softly, but she changed from a minor scale to a major one. She added more notes to fill out the sound. If she could gain his trust…if she could help Erik to understand that they could work together without his need to utterly control her every movement…

_Hope._


	11. A Step Back

Aveline had no clock to measure the time that ticked by in the underground lair. She felt as though she had been practicing for hours. After finishing her warm up, she had played with some melody lines that had been floating within her mind. She fiddled with the notes in her head, then returned to her room to retrieve the papers on which she had written short compositions.

Her stomach growled with hunger and still no Phantom. Although she couldn't be sure that he was late, her body's response made her suspect that he had, indeed, been delayed. He had never before missed a meal.

Bored of playing and too hungry to think of much else, she wandered the entirety of the cavernous maze. Her idea had been to stumble upon the hidden kitchen and scrounge around for something to eat. No kitchen had materialized, but she did happen upon a room that she swore to herself had been locked the last time she had checked.

Unlike most of the rooms she had seen, this particular area had no light source. No candles, no lanterns, nothing. She fetched a petite candelabra from the practice room and brought it back to explore what she had not yet seen. The room appeared to be full of junk strewn about. There was no order, if it was supposed to be a place of storage. Much of what she saw was quite dusty…and broken.

A mannequin dressed in a bridal gown was hunched over in the far corner. Librettos, programs, and posters of the operas _Hannibal_ and _Il Muto_ littered the floor. A voluminous red cloak and costume, complete with a large hat with an equally-large plume, were hung across the room from the mannequin. A skull mask glimpsed out from beneath the hat. Set pieces from various productions were destroyed either through negligence or rage, leaving their splintered ends exposed.

On the floor, only a few feet in front of her, sat another mask. Unlike the terrifying skull face, this one was simple and white. The candlelight illuminated it, making it shine and stand out amidst the debris of the room. Aveline cocked her head in curiosity and bent down to look at it more closely.

It was a half-mask, really. It shielded most of the wearer's cheeks from view, and the nose, eyes, and forehead would also be completely covered. The jawline, mouth, and the bottom of the nose would be visible. It was made of a porcelain, but quite light-weight. The inside was lined with a black material that cushioned the face. On either side, a black ribbon was fastened to the edge.

It looked worn, but not ruined. It obviously belonged to Erik, and he had taken very good care of it. She wondered why it was discarded in this haphazard room of forgotten memorabilia.

She looked once more around the room, searching for anything of interest, but she was not about to navigate through the trash to look for treasure. She did, however, take the mask with her. The door was once again closed and the room would stay shrouded in darkness. She took the mask back to her own room, placing it in the drawer that contained her undergarments. Better to not leave it out in plain sight. She was not yet ready to have a conversation about it. Or what it was meant to hide.

Aveline walked out toward the dock. There was a beautiful ivory shawl that went with the gown she was wearing, but she had left it in her room. She was about to go get it, when the Phantom's boat came into view, along with the man himself. She shivered and waited for him to come closer.

He saw her from afar, but he did not say anything or increase his pace. When the small boat was alongside the dock, he jumped out and tied it into place.

Erik turned to face her and lightly held her shoulders. Aveline knew she probably had a shocked expression, but the Phantom spoke before she could pull away or object.

"I am so, very sorry. I was detained much longer than I had originally anticipated." His eyes looked worried, and his tone, while muffled by the mask, seemed genuinely apologetic. "You must be famished. I am so sorry that I did not leave you something to eat, I truly thought I would be back before midday."

He grabbed one of her hands in his and used his other arm to wrap around her waist. Guiding her to his room, he sat her at the table, before rushing out. He returned mere minutes later, with a tray housing meats, cheeses, grapes, and breads. When he set it down, Aveline grabbed a bread roll and ate without decorum. Her eyes closed and she sighed in relief. She did not care if Erik watched her.

But he was no longer in the room, when she opened them. She continued to eat, finishing off the roll and grabbing a leg of what she assumed to be chicken. It tasted heavenly. While she ate, Erik returned with wine and a glass. He placed the bottle and the glass of light rose liquid onto the table within her reach. Achieving his goal of giving her sustenance, he leisurely walked to his bed and sat upon it.

"Be careful not to eat too quickly, I don't want you to make yourself sick," he cautioned.

Aveline swallowed her current mouthful and looked suspiciously at Erik.

"Are you not also hungry?"

He hesitated and looked over toward his desk. "I…am not hungry at the moment, no."

She took a smaller bite and then a sip of the wine. It tasted light and glorious. She hadn't realized how parched she was until the drink passed her lips. He was watching her, again.

"What time is it?"

Erik's eyes creased awkwardly, as if wincing. "It's…late. After you eat, you should go to your room to sleep."

Aveline finished the chicken leg and placed the bone on the tray. She drained the glass of its contents, poured herself another glass, and drained that one, too.

"I know you are thirsty, but, please, try to drink more slowly, as well."

She narrowed her eyes, poured another glass and drank half of it. He looked away.

"What on earth took you all day to accomplish?" Aveline ate some of the grapes to accent the taste of the wine. "You said you were purchasing some food and meeting with Madam Durand. You arrived with no food. I assume that, therefore, you spent the entire time with my faux piano instructor. Is that right?"

The Phantom's tone changed abruptly. "It is not your concern. We will not starve down here, and everything I did was in service to your ambitions."

"You mean, perhaps, _your_ ambitions," she muttered. She finished the glass and broke open another roll. "I'm a 'puppet' that you have yet to show in public, just like _Francine_ , isn't that right?"

Erik did not answer her immediately. He watched as she poured a fourth glass of the wine.

"Even if that were true, you would still be indebted to me," he said with a calm manner. "Francine may have played what I wrote for her, but she also gained the notoriety and lifestyle that her heart wished for…mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Life is full of complications."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he snapped. He brushed some dirt from the side of one sleeve. "Nothing that you need to be dwelling upon, when you still have yet to master the art of playing."

She let that go, more intent on satisfying her hunger than arguing with a madman. He moved from the bed to the chair opposite hers at the table. His eyes still watched her, but he didn't interrupt her meal. After she had finished her fourth glass, she reached for the bottle, but his hand covered hers and held it firmly in place.

"I said not to drink so quickly, Aveline," his low voice rumbled in his chest.

She raised her brow at his unwelcome advice and yanked the bottle from his grip. She poured the rest of it into her glass, filling it to the brim. And then she leaned forward and took a dainty sip.

"I don't believe that you need to _concern_ yourself with every aspect of my welfare, Erik." In her head, she thought she heard her voice slightly slurring the words. Or maybe she imagined it. She was tired and a little…hazy.

Reaching for more grapes, her hand bumped a roll and it careened off the table. She laughed.

"Oh, my apologies! I'll call for the maid…oh, wait…" Aveline looked at Erik and smirked. "I guess that would be you, wouldn't it? Do be so good as to fetch it for me." She had a long draught from her glass and placed it back on the table.

Erik lunged across the table and grabbed her chin with one of his hands. Her hands went to his wrist, trying to remove her head from his control. Using his free hand, he grabbed one of her hands and pinned it to the table. She looked surprised and annoyed. His eyes looked murderous.

"Stop your immature, petty behavior at once!" he hissed. "I have apologized for my absence, and we have spent the last two weeks in relative peace. If you revert to acting like a child, you shall see the true meaning of being fully under my control! Do you want to be locked in your room, as a prisoner?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, although Aveline was certain the wine was influencing her reaction to the threat.

"I already AM your prisoner!" she cried out.

He released her and sat back in his seat.

"And perhaps that's all you'll ever be." His words were pure ice.

Aveline glared back at him, grabbed the wine glass and toasted him mockingly. She finished it, placed it on the table, and stood. Standing made her a bit dizzier than she expected, but she gave him a curt nod and turned toward the door. Her steps were unsteady, but she successfully made it out.

Just outside, her left foot found a crevice in the rocky floor and buckled. She crumbled to the ground and let out a cry of pain. Erik was at her side, kneeling to pick her up. She wondered if he had followed right behind her.

She begrudgingly allowed her captor to carry her to her room. He lay her on the bed and began to remove her left shoe. She gasped.

"No! Leave me be!"

Erik stopped to address her. "I cannot assess your injury without removing your boot. Hold still, or you may do more damage!"

She frowned and winced at the pain that each movement brought to her. Her companion gently massaged around her stocking-clad ankle and carefully turned it in different angles. She moaned softly and waited for him to be done. He placed her foot back on the bed and stood.

"It is not broken, thankfully. You will need to keep weight off of it for a few weeks, though, to allow the torn musculature to heal."

The pain was dull and throbbing. But the combination of the bottle of wine and laying down was making it hard for Aveline to listen to Erik's chatter. She fell asleep with no care about still being in the Phantom's presence.

She slept soundly, deeply.

 _E…G…D…G…_ The familiar tune played from a piano somewhere in the underground. The music swelled and abated, flowing with pure passion.

When her eyes fluttered open, she sat up in bed to take in her surroundings. She had not undressed for bed, and one of her shoes was on the floor.

 _One shoe off, and one shoe on…just like the nursery rhyme,_ she mused. Her head had started pounding. She wished that she had taken Erik's advice on drinking more slowly.

She groaned when she remembered their conversation. What a step backward in their already imbalanced relationship! She lamented how the wine emboldened her to verbally strike at the man who currently held her livelihood in his hands.

Her hands cradled her face, trying to assuage the throbbing she felt in her head.

She had fallen, outside his door, while trying to make a dramatic exit. She recalled then, that he had carried her to her bedroom and lay her down. Her cheeks flushed when she remembered him lifting her skirt and removing her shoe.

Moving cautiously, she ignored the splitting headache and swung her body to the side of the bed. She removed the shoe from her right foot and attempted to stand. Having weight placed upon it made her cry out in pain. She sat back down and wondered what to do. The music still played outside her door.

Pulling herself up, again, she used a bedpost to hold herself up and she hopped on one foot to her vanity. She used the vanity's edge to aid her hopping toward the door. Arriving at the room's exit, she breathed a sigh of relief that she had made it that far.

But when she tried the doorknob, it was locked. She frowned and turned the knob with even more force. Locked.

_He hasn't locked me in my room since my first night. And he unlocked it by morning._

The threat he made to lock her in her room surfaced in her memory. Her heart raced. Would he do such a thing?

Her hand pounded on the door. Outside, she heard the music crescendo to a higher dynamic. The passion was now absent from the piece he played. It was obnoxiously loud to cover the sound of her knocking.

"Erik!" No response. "ERIK!" The music still resounded throughout the cavern.

She banged as hard as she could on the door. "ERIK, PLEASE!"

The music stopped, mid-phrase. She placed her ear against the entry to listen for advancing footsteps.

The only thing she heard was the key in the lock, and her eyes widened when she felt the door push against her. On the other side, Erik seemingly understood that she would fall if he pressed forward, so he waited another minute to enter.

Aveline had hopped back to the vanity, and she was now seated before the mirror. Erik, feeling no more resistance, pushed open the door and took only a few paces into the room. His arms crossed over his chest and he glared at her under his mask.

"I-" Aveline started. Her throat was dry and the words in her head were jumbled. "I didn't think you'd act upon your threat to lock me in my room," she said quietly, sadly.

"You were foolish to provoke me." His stance remained stiff, but his eyes softened. "Too much wine or not, I won't have my pupil disrespecting me in my own home."

"I wasn't trying to provoke you…" she thought back to her inebriated conversation. "Well, to be honest, I was, but I was just so upset. These weeks have not been easy. You have taught be so much! I am grateful! And I would like to continue studying under your tutelage."

She took a deep breath and continued with caution. Erik was still. Listening.

"I have enjoyed our conversations, and I want to play for you. I want to learn from you. But, perhaps, I could stay with Madam Durand? She would act as my chaperone and you could come up daily to instruct me. Or maybe every few days?"

He did not respond, so she swallowed and continued.

"I won't flee, I _want_ to learn. I want to be great. I think you are my best chance at achieving the level of mastery I seek…but I am struggling down here, Erik. I cannot live in a cave. I miss the sun, I miss the sounds of the city. Please," she pleaded.

Her hands reached for him and he took them in his own, kneeling beside her.

"Please, Erik, please loosen my chains just a little, or I will go mad!" Her eyes watered and she leaned her head toward his.

Erik sighed. He looked into her mirror.

"That's not possible, Aveline." His eyes moved back to watch tears fall down her cheeks. The display unsettled him, so he let go of her hands and moved to sit on her bed. "It is an excellent notion, in theory," he mused, "but Francine would object even more strongly than myself."

He seemed restless to Aveline, starting to pace her floor. She stayed silent, awaiting further explanation.

"I should probably tell you more about my dealings with her, so that you fully understand."


	12. Her Complicated Past

"As I've already told you, Francine played for the ballet corps' rehearsals," the Phantom began. He sat upon her bed, after using a stool and small pillow to rest her injured ankle. Aveline still sat upon the chair at the vanity.

"She was not permitted to play in the orchestra, particularly due to Monsieur Reyer's bias against female musicians. I heard her play frequently, watching your mother dance from the cover of my hidden walkways."

"Wait," Aveline interrupted, " _my_ mother? _Danced_? I thought she was the _prima donna_ of the Paris Opera."

If her outburst bothered Erik, he made no show of it.

"Christine began in the corps, sent to the opera house by her own musician father who wished for her to excel." He hesitated, then. "You do know of your musical lineage, correct? The instrument your grandfather played?"

"Yes, of course," Aveline shot back with an incredulous tone. "Mama told me on many occasions that her father was a magnificent violinist." She frowned and looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "Often, when I lamented over my lack of vocal ability," she muttered as an afterthought.

Erik abandoned the tangent their conversation had taken, opting to return to his original story.

"Francine was undoubtedly more talented than the current pianist in Reyer's orchestra, but I had enough to focus on while tutoring your mother. I certainly wanted Christine to become the opera's _prima donna_ , but the woman who, at that time, held the title was La Carlotta."

He paused, unexpectedly. Aveline started, "Who was-"

"She does not matter, she is fodder." His voice snapped at her. His overall tense appearance relaxed and continued. "Let me skip ahead in the story to when I was reintroduced to Francine."

He glanced back at the musical box that housed the cymbal-playing monkey.

"After the fire destroyed the Opera Populaire, I retreated further into my own world. For the most part, the remains of the building and its contents were left untouched. There had been enough witnesses to its destruction to spread the rumor that the fire had been the act of a being that was one-part ghost and one-part madman. The fear of such a creature deterred most from attempting to set foot on the premises."

Erik's head turned back to where Aveline sat, so that he could look at her seriously.

"Occasionally, I had to protect this sacred building from those who wished to plunder what was left of its original glory. After a few mysterious deaths of unsavory characters, the vagrants knew to leave my domain alone." Aveline flinched at his guiltless delivery. "And, so, until a buyer was willing to invest in reconstructing this landmark, I was the only soul that dwelled here.

"Months passed and I sank into a hopeless state. I had no muse, no desire to compose. On one fortuitous day, I heard music, once again, coming from a familiar part of the Opera. I heard Francine. I knew it was her before I saw her. I could hear her sadness, her wistfulness, in her playing.

"The practice room was one of the rooms that was mostly untouched by the flames, and, except for the ravages of neglect, it was also mostly intact. Including the rather out-of-tune piano. Francine did not notice me in the doorway, as her back faced me, so I took the opportunity to listen, truly listen, to her play.

"It was in that moment that something in me sparked back to life. I imagined composing and have her introduce my music to millions through her talented playing."

Erik's tone was light, matching the mood of the version of himself that was set within the timeline of his story.

"When I approached her, Francine was fearful, to be sure, but I was blocking the only exit from the room. She was trapped, and I took that moment to assess her. Her visage was plain, mature from the hardships her life had seen."

Aveline once read a biography that Madam Durand had sanctioned to be written of her rise to fame. Although she knew, now, that the Phantom's influence was notably omitted from its pages, the beginning of the book covered her past of being orphaned at a young age and relying upon the pity of shop owners to keep herself from starving. She had been particularly fortunate, in a manner of speaking, to find herself cleaning the shop that sold musical instruments.

Francine watched students of the owner, as he taught the various young men how to move their hands across the piano at the back of his shop. Her sweeping and dusting were subtle covers for making her own mental notes about the basic mechanics of the alluring instrument.

After the store closed, she would sneak back inside to experiment with the sounds that the keys and pedals made. She was self-taught, and her passionate desire to play also helped her to make great strides in proficiency. Each morning, well before the owner returned to his store, she would sneak back out and sleep out on the streets.

In the early years, she had been attacked on multiple occasions. Out of necessity, she had needed to learn where to sleep to stay mostly hidden from view. Madam Durand never had any children. Aveline had always wondered if her unmarried state was a decision due to her unwillingness to focus on anything outside her music or because she had been violated to the point that she was unable to trust another man with her well-being.

The shop owner had heard rumors on the street of piano playing coming from nearby his store at all hours of the night. When he burst through the door after hours and caught Francine inside, he dragged her out of the building and fired her for her impudence.

A few days after that, she was sitting in a tavern, awaiting a patron nearby to finish their meal so she could quickly run past and grab any leftover scraps. While she waited, she noticed an unused piano that sat in the back corner of the establishment. She missed playing. It had been the only thing in her life she looked forward to. Her daydreaming cost her the food she had been eyeing. The patron had left the table, the plate was removed and discarded in the kitchen, and her stomach folded upon itself in starvation.

Her opportunity gone, she trudged to the piano stool and sat down. The instrument was obviously neglected. She doubted it would be in tune. Her fingers lightly played the keys, simple scales, knowing that she would most likely be kicked out at any moment.

A drunken bar patron and his friend approached her and asked her to play a song that she was unfamiliar with. She asked them to sing the melody to her, and they obliged as best as they could. She experimented with the notes, straining to pair the music to the keys. The two men sang over her playing, unfazed by the fact that she was still struggling to play along with them.

Eventually, they were too bored to focus on her. They drifted back to the bar for another round, while Francine continued to play.

By the end of the night, she had played the same tune at least four times, leading the customers in raucous song. The owner of the pub was impressed enough to give her a job with measly pay to provide entertainment to his patrons. She used what she could of the salary to purchase new music, broadening her repertoire.

Years passed, and her playing and sight-reading had significantly improved. When an opening with the Opera Populaire had been advertised, she couldn't think of herself actually obtaining the coveted position. It was too good to be true. Excellent pay, challenging pieces supplied, room and board provided. Miraculously, she had beaten every other applicant.

Pierre, the tavern owner, in a rare show of appreciation, offered her more pay to entice her to stay. She turned on her heel and left the lowly bar for the final time, unable to feel any gratitude for Pierre or the place where she had honed her craft. Her talent had progressed past the limits of what he could provide.

With the Opera Populaire, Francine found what she had spent her entire life looking for: home and family. But something else eluded her. When the Opera had been destroyed, she lost everything. After working as a piano teacher around Paris to the socialite daughters, she had abruptly quit the lucrative positions to focus on her own performance. She had partnered with a benefactor who catapulted her to stardom. Her biography had expounded upon her professional career and the fame she had acquired. Home and family were not to be, but the third life goal, success, was hers forever.

"I found her while she was wasting away, teaching young girls to show a modicum of talent to match what she already had in spades," Erik continued. "She was cynical, of course, worried that partnering with the madman of the Opera would lead to her death. I think, at that time, she was eager to continue in any direction except the one she currently followed. Even death would have been an acceptable end at that juncture of her life…"

He was pensive, as if thinking about where Francine's state of mind must have been at that moment was a new notion.

"But, under my tutelage, and using the music of reclusive composer Generaux, she was a sensation at her first performance. I had, of course, secured the concert hall, as a secretive benefactor. Her mysterious appearance in the spotlight was enough to fuel interest in seeing what could possibly be so special about a mousey nobody."

Aveline frowned at the cruel description. Erik's eyes raked over her, again, but not with lustful intentions. He was appraising her, she felt it. Comparing her…again.

"Her talent impressed those who attended, and, through word of mouth, more and more of the public became aware of this unusually talented female pianist. The venues she performed increased in size, as ticket sales demanded her to play for hundreds of paying patrons. As the years passed, we bonded. I think she thought-" he paused. "Her performance improved, she toured Europe, and I benefited from her sharing and selling my music. I remained here, having no desire to travel with her…"

She knew he was holding something back. He was too careful with his words.

"I managed her finances, ensuring that she would always live the lifestyle that she had become accustomed to and that I received my fair share of her earnings."

He stopped to stand and leisurely stroll around her room, while Aveline attempted to figure out why her idol would not want to be a more proactive part of her instruction.

"Francine knew about my infatuation with your mother. I think, by the end, few in all of Paris were unaware of my feelings for Christine. I made a mistake, though, with Francine. I was genuine in my affections toward your mother.

"Francine wanted…more. More than I did, anyway. We were unable to reconcile our differences and we parted ways. Soon after, she tired of her exhausting performance schedule, and she publicly announced her retirement."

The Phantom had walked back to where Aveline sat and looked down at her, holding his hands behind his back.

"When your father wrote to her to ask if she would be interested in instructing his only child, she knew exactly who he was. She knew exactly who _you_ were: the daughter of my beloved Christine." He stared at her pointedly.

"Francine came back to me to show me the letter. I think she did it to taunt me. She meant, of course, to deny your father's request, as she had no designs on teaching another young noblewoman. I don't think she anticipated my using the opening to lure your family, your mother, back to Paris."

He reached down and picked her up unexpectedly, and Aveline gave a surprised gasp. Her arms encircled Erik's neck to steady her upper body. He carried her to his room, taking carefully measured steps on the uneven ground.

"Now, it is you who are here with me," he murmured. "And think on this, Aveline: Because of her talent, despite her lack of social graces, connections, and elegance, Francine soared." His eyes smiled down at her, looking wonderous. "Think of how much more you can achieve."

She looked quizzical, and he elaborated.

"Your youth, your beauty, your noble status, your rather enigmatic personality, and your potential for greatness," he stated factually, without pretense or the desire to flatter. "You will be celebrated long after Francine's name and reputation have faded from history. You will be admired across the world."

Erik set her down at the dining table and lifted the silver cloche to reveal their breakfast underneath.

"And, this time, I think I will join you for the ride."

Aveline's head still ached and nothing on the ornate dish looked appetizing. As if on cue to her thoughts, the Phantom placed a glass of cold water on the table. She drank the entire glass and sighed in relief. The pain would ebb away, as the minutes ticked by.

Erik sat beside her and watched as she closed her eyes and massaged her temples.

"I think," he concluded, "Francine knows what the future holds. She is, by no means, your ally. She is indebted to me, and to me alone. She will act upon my wishes, but I know that she is unhappy with my having someone new to teach and inspire."

Aveline wanted to lay her head on her arms on the top of the table and just fall asleep. She focused on his words, but it was all too much to process. She looked down at the baguette slices and figured that she needed nourishment to help herself feel well, again. One hand grabbed a single piece of the bread and the other used the small serving spoon to spread the red-colored jam.

"So, out of all of that, I garnished that you composed and paid for Madam Durand to become a star, but she probably fell in love with you, most likely due to you leading her in that assumption, and then you parted ways, and she now acts as your agent, but she could not care less about my welfare because she is too jealous of what _may_ happen?" Her words, like her thoughts were a jumbled mess, but she stared at him to await his confirmation.

"Yes, I suppose that's mostly right," he coolly replied.

"Well," Aveline paused to take a bite and chew it in thought. " _If_ what you say is true, I suppose I'm no longer interested in meeting Madam Durand, either."

She finished eating, and she felt remarkably better. Unfortunately, she was still very tired. Before she could announce it, the Phantom was up from his seat and bending down to cradle her in his arms. She let him carry her, not having the desire to hobble back to her room in her stockings.

Instead of returning to her room, though, Erik placed her on top of his own bed.

"Wait! I need to sleep-"

"You can sleep there," he pointed out. "My room is much more central than yours; it is closer to where you practice. I will return you to your quarters tonight. Until then, I will not exhaust myself unnecessarily."

He sat at the table, his back to her, and she saw him take off his mask to place it alongside the plate. Although curious to see what he looked like, she was tired and unable to do anything to see what he so desperately wished to hide.

She stared into the empty eyes of the mask and soon fell asleep.


	13. Not a Muse

Aveline awoke invigorated. She felt like a completely different person, no longer plagued by the wine in her system. She sat up and stretched unhurriedly. The Phantom, his mask, and the food he had brought in for breakfast were all gone from the room. Next to her, on his nightstand, was a full glass of water and what appeared to be a silver pocket watch.

She picked it up and turned it in her hands. The outside was somewhat ornate, but not extraordinarily so. The chain had been removed, but it looked as though it was new. She pressed on the spring-loaded button, and the watch's face was instantly visible.

The face had a white background with clearly-defined Roman numerals in black to contrast. The two hands were silver, as well, and they showed a time of a few minutes after two. In a window cut out of the back of the clock face, there was artwork depicting a sun traversing the sky. She supposed that meant that it was afternoon and not the middle of the night.

On the back of the cover, there was a brief, engraved statement:

_For the angel who aligned my stars…Merci. F.D._

Aveline's brows arched in mild surprise. It most definitely was NOT a new timepiece.

She set it back onto the table and picked up the water goblet. As she sipped, the Phantom returned to the room. His movements were quiet, until he noticed that she was sitting up in his bed.

"How are you, my dear? Are you hungry?"

Aveline shook her head, simultaneously wondering if she had skipped lunch or if their fluid sense of time meant that her breakfast had been later than it should have been.

Erik arrived at her bedside and sat upon the covers next to her. He removed the glass from her hands and placed it on the table.

"Do you wish to play?"

She thought about that, for a beat. She nodded slightly. "I think that might be a good idea, yes."

He picked her up, again, then, and she was prepared for him to do so.

"Am I to play you more scales?" she asked as they traveled.

"No, not today," his eyes stared straight ahead, concentrating on keeping them both upright. "I have an idea that I would like to test."

"What is that?"

"Let me set you down at the piano, and I will explain."

He did just that, tenderly lowering her to be seated on the cushioned bench. She waited for his explanation, as she warmed her hands with her breath and flexed all of her fingers.

"Tell me," he started. "Do you compose?"

Aveline hesitated, worried that her answer might lead to him mocking her in some way.

"I… like to…write little melodies, sometimes. To amuse myself. Or, on occasion, I will write alternative motifs for existing compositions."

The Phantom stood over her looked down at her, expressing appraisal and interest through his eyes into her own.

"In the weeks that you have been with me, have you written anything new?"

She flushed. "Not anything of substance…"

"I would like to be the judge of that, as your mentor," he said, as he sat beside her on the bench. "Play something original for me, please."

Her mind racked in panic, trying to accurately remember the theme she had, in the deepest recesses of her memory, memorized. Intimidated to play a new composition in front of a man whose music she had obsessed over, she closed her eyes and pretended not to feel his body against hers.

For his part, Erik remained both quiet and still, giving Aveline the time she needed to play comfortably for him.

The music was a plaintive, fearful piece. She had liked the way the melody rose and fell in its minor key, and the chords that accompanied it were simple. It probably sounded juvenile, but it was not a completed movement. When finished, she placed her hands in her lap.

Erik nodded, looking at the vacant keys.

"Good. That was a good start."

"Start?" Aveline questioned.

He ignored her inquiry and went on. "You mentioned that you rewrite the works of others, as well?"

"I-" that feeling crept up in her, again. He was about to spring a trap. "I don't _rewrite_ anything, I just add little flourishes here and there," she cautiously revealed.

"Have you added any of your 'little flourishes' to something of mine?"

She bit her lip and stayed silent.

"Play."

"Play what," she innocently asked.

"Don't feign ignorance, it doesn't suit you, _ma protégée_ ," he chided.

Aveline contemplated what to do. She took a breath and placed her fingers on the keys.

She began to play a piece by Georges Bizet, a favorite of hers. The sprightly-sounding music was a busier one of the composer's works, but she had removed and changed some of the accompanying elements to make it sound dreamier and trance-like.

Not less than two minutes after she started playing, the Phantom interrupted.

"Stop!"

Her hands hovered over the keys, and she looked over at her tutor to show him her frustration. He wasn't looking at her, so the emotion went unnoticed.

"I am not interested in hearing how you corrupt other artists' works in order to amuse yourself," he stood and spat out. "I want to know your creative capabilities."

She sat, dumbfounded.

"Erik, I-"

"Your original composition has potential. It lacks complexity and direction," he paced the room. "But both of those faults can be corrected. What I want to know now is," and he stopped to look at Aveline, "how you compose when inspired in collaboration with another artist."

He sat down again, and he took her hands into his.

"You know my published works, as Octave Genereux, but what have you heard me playing as the Phantom of the Opera?"

"I believe I've heard at least a few…" she lightly removed her hands from his and placed them in her lap. "Let me think…there is the one that is an extension of the music box that sits next to my bed. It seems to have about three different movements.

"And there's the piece that comes from the four notes featured on your- on the lid of that coffin in the graveyard behind the Opera. E, G, D, G… it is _such_ a beautiful melody. I would love to have a copy of it, someday," she heavily hinted.

"And the last song I can think of still seems to be in the development process, however that works for you."

She couldn't tell for sure, but she thought he had a shrewd look in his eyes.

"What?"

"Play."

Although he had only given her a one-word answer, she now knew exactly what he meant. She played the piece that she had had to learn by ear.

"This is it, isn't it?"

"Yes," he whispered in an especially breathy voice.

"I think," she spoke up, while still playing, "that it might sound…nice…to add more power to the upper register of the melodic line."

She smiled as she played. The song sounded like it was meant to be a romantic ditty, full of passion and hope. It was not her favorite composition of his, either under his alias or his true self, but it was an enjoyable one to play. She did not finish the selection, as it had no ending, as of yet. Her smile still lingered on her face, when she turned her head toward him.

"Interesting."

Her smile vanished.

"Interesting? That's all you have to say about it?" Her cheeks felt hot.

"I am…encouraged by your creativity and awareness."

"Awareness?" she repeated. Aveline gathered that he was giving her praise, but she found herself craving more explanation.

Per usual, Erik ignored her question and continued on his own train of thought.

"Your mother and Francine were both excellent pupils…"

"Thank you for the new information," Aveline muttered under her breath.

"But they had little desire or ability to create anything on their own or even in collaboration with me."

Aveline perked up a little, at this less-than flattering statement.

"I have been searching, ever since I lost your mother, for a muse. Francine was never a muse; she was my sounding board. I had hoped you could do the same: magnify the greatness of my music by giving my work widespread exposure."

He rose from the bench, again, and this time he stood behind her. She felt his hands rest upon her shoulders.

"I think, now, that I have found more than a muse, more than a sounding board. I think we may work best as partners."

Aveline was grateful that Erik could not see her face. She was pure shock.

"P-Partners?"

Erik released her from his hold. She did not see where he went, but she heard his low voice behind her.

"You have a penchant for repeating my words," he unhelpfully replied, seemingly amused. "Yes," he continued. "Your creative ability is underdeveloped. But, while unrefined, you show promise. I will mold you into something greater. Something extraordinary."

Hearing herself referred to as a "thing" caused Aveline to snap at him.

"Ah, yes, the 'puppet' who plays the illustrious works of 'O.G.'"

Behind her, she heard an exasperated sigh.

"I likened Francine into a 'puppet,' because I was the one who held her up," he explained more thoroughly. "Her…roughness was difficult for people to look past. I paid for the road she traveled, and I gave her _my_ music to elevate her into a world that she would NEVER have seen."

"How will my supposed rise to fame be different?"

Aveline felt him sit next to her, again. But he sat on the opposite side of the bench, facing away from her. She looked over at him; when he met her gaze, she saw his eyes widen a hair in surprise.

"As I have said, you already belong to the elite world that I had to force Francine into. I will pour more into your career than I did with Francine…or your rather ungrateful mother."

She narrowed her eyes.

"And what if, I, like my mother, have other aspirations? What if my heart's desire is not to become the next Durand, but to have a home and family like my _rather_ _wonderful_ parents?"

Although she could only see his eyes behind the mask, they were full of mirth.

"We both know that not to be the case, or you would have stayed behind in Toulouse to find a handsome young suitor to make your dreams come true." He twisted his top half to face Aveline more directly. "Be patient. Trust that I want what is best for you. I know your dreams. You are NOT your mother. I will give you the world, if you stay with me."

His pretty words were laced with desperation. She leaned away from him and stood, placing her delicate hands on the frame of the instrument. She winced, a little, when the movement added soreness to her injured ankle.

"I came to Paris to learn, _monsieur_ ," she quietly confided. "Not to compose."

"For someone with exceptional talent, one usually leads to the other."

Aveline was finished with the conversation. She was getting nowhere, and neither would be swayed toward any compromise, at the moment. One thought popped into her head, and she blurted it out without consciously wishing to do so.

"Whose compositions will I be playing, on my immensely successful tours?"

Erik stood and came up beside her, leaning one of his elbows onto the piano's edge.

"You will play every composer _worth_ playing. Including Octave Generaux and the marvelous Vicomtesse Aveline de Chagny."

Her heart skipped a beat, hearing her full name in that context.


	14. Give and Take

_Ma fille précieuse,_

_I cannot believe I have been without my darling daughter for over a month! I am most pleased that you are enjoying the company and instruction of Madame Durand. Although I am happy that you are pursuing your dream, I miss you terribly._

_Your father and I are planning to spend the upcoming summer months in Cadiz. I expect that Madame will let you break from Paris in order to spend time with us there. At least a month. Just think of it! The ocean, the people…you will have plenty of time to perfect your Spanish. I daresay, your father will not rent an estate without a most exquisite piano, so you will be able to practice your craft in the absence of your tutor._

_Of course, your father misses you every second of the day, as well. He hardly knows what to do with himself. He asks me to write that you take care in that beautiful, dangerous city. We worry about you. I am sure that Madame Durand is a diligent chaperone, and that she will not let any harm befall you. I ask that you remain close to her and the protection she provides._

_Please write to me, again, soon!_

_Prends bien soin de toi, mon petit cœur,_

_Ta mére_

_Dear Mama,_

_I feel like I improve daily! Madame Durand is a musical genius. She thinks that I am talented enough to, one day, be a world-renowned composer! Although she is strict, her instruction has…changed. I am less her student and more her – well, I can't think of a term to describe it, but it's a bit like we are colleagues. We are working in tandem to create music that I never thought I had within me. It's strange. Strange and wonderful. Unexpected._

_Cadiz for the summer? That will be exciting! I assume Father has decided to turn a business arrangement into an extended vacation. That is very sweet of him. I hope, one day, that I can find someone who will pamper me in the way that Father treats you._

_I am not sure I can be away for a full month. But I will discuss the matter with the Madame._

_Indeed, she has been taking good care of me. Shortly after I wrote you last, I twisted my ankle. A stupid accident. Madame helped me hobble around, made sure that I rested my injured foot, and nursed me back to health. I am pleased to relate that I am walking unimpeded, fully healed._

_Because of my injury, I have not been out much. I am very much hoping that she will take me to a party, or a performance, or a dance, or a dinner…anything, just to get outside! If Paris is showing signs of Spring, I have yet to see it. I have assured her that I will be on my absolute best behavior._

_Please be praying for me, that I will have strength and patience to see this through._

_Tout mon amour,_

_Aveline_

Erik finished looking over Aveline's response and looked into her waiting eyes.

"You are hardly subtle," he glowered.

"I was hardly trying to be," she answered, matter of factly. "Please? I am healed! I can walk! Take me to the surface, and you _know_ that I will come back down with you."

Erik didn't respond. Aveline could almost see the cogs and gears turning inside his mind. He was contemplating the idea of taking her up, and he needed further encouragement.

"Please, Erik," she beseeched. "I would be with you the entire time. I will stay by your side." He looked doubtful, so she took a breath and tried a different tactic. "If you trusted me, and if you could take me anywhere in Paris, where would we go?"

He had been sitting at the small desk in his room, Aveline standing above him, as he read her letter. The rose stamp and wax were ready to seal the correspondence, so he turned back to that task to allow him time to think. When he was finished, he left the seal to harden on his desk and stood to tower over the young woman at his side.

"I can't exactly flit from shop to shop or eat in any of the restaurants, Aveline. I thought that would be obvious. I have a few connections that I rely upon, and everything else is accomplished through Francine. Your dresses, for example. I can't go anywhere without attracting too much attention."

"You can if I am with you," she pointed out. "If someone asks, we will say that your mask covers an injury of some sort. A… fire? A chemical or acid?"

Erik cocked his head to the side. He did not look amused.

"To have to repeat the same lie to every nosy person-"

"Oh!" Aveline interrupted the Phantom's protest. "Wait one moment!"

She turned from him and hurried back to her room, carefully navigating the rough path. Inside the drawer where she had left it weeks and weeks ago, was the white half-mask. She removed it from its concealment and brought it back to Erik's room. He had remained in the same spot, and his eyes showed surprise when he realized what she held.

"Where did you get that-"

"I found it in a room. One that you usually keep locked. I've noticed that it's locked, again, by the way. Why is that?"

Erik seemed flustered, for once. "I – That room is – It's full of painful memories from the past that I would rather not revisit." His words fell flat, and he looked at the ground under Aveline's feet.

"I may not be able to help you with that, but I _think_ I know a thing or two about society. Once your mask is explained away, news will spread and politeness will dictate that bringing it up or pressing the issue would be tactless."

She pushed the half-mask into Erik's hands, and he reflexively, if reluctantly, took it.

"Is this something you can wear? Do you _need_ to have your entire face covered, or will this cover the majority of what you are wanting to hide?"

Her words were a little too candid. His eyes narrowed to slits. Aveline knew she was pushing her luck, but she was determined to get her way.

"Erik," she pouted, trying a new angle. "Just a dinner. Please? I am sure even the quickest excursion would bolster my creative passion!" She grinned winningly at her opponent.

Something in his manner alerted her to the fact that she had won him over. Even before he spoke a word, Aveline felt her heart leap in her chest.

"I will make some arrangements," he conceded. "Do NOT bring it up, again."

Aveline's hands clasped at her breast as she made an excited squeak. Erik turned away from her and picked up her letter. She followed him out of his room and to the dock.

Although he had left her many times to run errands in the world above, she felt anxious each time about his leaving her. He never left without making sure she had plenty to eat, drink, and do during his absence; still, she couldn't help but imagine what she would do if he never returned. Could she find her way out of this labyrinth? Would she starve to death?

She nervously held a fisted hand to her mouth, to keep from speaking her worries, and watched Erik untie the ropes on the boat. When he turned to her to impart a lighthearted farewell, he correctly deduced what she was feeling.

"I will be back soon," he promised. His hand gently grabbed the fist at her mouth and pulled it down to hold both of her hands within his. "Do you still have my pocket watch?"

Aveline nodded. He had given her the timepiece the very next time he went to leave his lair, after the instance where he accidentally left her for the entire day. Mostly, Aveline left it at her bedside, as it still served no real purpose in their sunless domain. Whenever the Phantom left, however, she had it with her to mark the passing of time.

He used one hand to cup her chin, and Aveline awkwardly allowed the gesture. _His mannerisms are so odd_ , she thought.

The moment passed and he turned from her to depart. She watched as he rowed away.

_He never looks back, does he?_

She returned to her quarters to retrieve the watch and then went straight to her practice room.

For weeks, she and the Phantom had been working on his unfinished composition. Erik insisted that it would be better for her to immerse herself in an existing piece with a clear theme than to start from scratch. They usually took turns at the piano, asking each other for critiques and suggestions for how to transition from phrase to phrase. All in all, it was a better experience than Aveline had anticipated.

But, with her tutor away from earshot, Aveline rifled through the sheets of music to find her original piece. The basic mechanics were still there, from when Erik had asked her to play it the first time, but it had most definitely evolved. The first movement was fearful, anxious, and timid. She had added more dissonant notes to bring forth the feeling of dread that she wanted it to portray. The second movement, was startlingly playful and more upbeat, all in major keys instead of minor ones.

Working with Erik was give and take. Mostly give. Giving into his wishes for what he ultimately desired to create.

With her own composition, she happily had final say over every aspect of her piece. There was no need to hide her music, and she knew Erik must have seen her scribblings; but he had never mentioned any new additions she had made to her own sheets. He never asked her to play her music for him. Part of her was a little insulted by his lack of interest, but mostly she was relieved to have something that was all her own…untainted.

Going into their tentative partnership, she figured that they would compose twice as quickly. It was quite the opposite effect: they seemed to only complete a few bars of music a week. The Phantom was a perfectionist, and Aveline was not surprised, given everything that she had been through.

On her own, she added onto her music quickly, but she found herself going back over what she had written over and over and over again, unsatisfied with progressing until the mood of the piece was exactly what she wanted to hear.

Subconsciously, she acknowledged that she and Erik were complimentary in their weaknesses and strengths.

Erik was a perfectionist – unwilling to write anything down unless he was sure that it was worthy. His composing style favored the bass line with strong chords and dark flairs. Mostly, the music he produced was serious and sultry.

Aveline was, in many ways, his inverse – barreling through the process, scribbling down notes that seemed to work, crossing out entire bars or phrases that she was no longer interested in trying to fix. She saw that Erik's tendency to fill out the bass clef needed more balance in the treble clef, which was her _forte_ , so to speak. And, although she appreciated how seriously he took his work, she encouraged him to add unexpected flourishes and dynamics to the music, lightening his mood both on and off the paper.

As a young girl, she never envisioned composing her own music. She only wished to play with ease and efficiency. It was a hobby. One she was passionate about, surely, but not something for which she would leave a permanent mark upon the world.

Admittedly, part of the reason she had been able to improve so quickly in her underground dwelling was due to the fact that there was nothing else with which to distract herself. No more horseback riding, no more tea or dinner parties, no embroidery, no freedom to laze about or pick wildflowers. And although she missed those activities, she felt as though something inside of her had been unlocked. She began to harness a new power within her that she had unknowingly possessed in the depths of her being.

She stopped what she was doing and picked up the watch to see how much time had passed. Only two hours since the Phantom's departure. It felt like more. She stretched and decided to check to see what he had left her to eat.

In her room, a tray containing a baguette and some grapes sat atop her vanity. Aveline popped a grape into her mouth and spat the seed into a napkin that he had also left. Her eyes landed on the music box at her bedside. She had not played it since her very first night in the room. She sat upon her bed and turned the lever, listening when the chimes delicately played the simple melody.

"That music box is my favorite possession, believe it or not."

Aveline's head whipped around to the doorway; the Phantom stood in his typical all-black attire, complete with his hood and gloves, watching her.

"Where did you get it from? It's quite…" Aveline had a few descriptive words to say. Creepy? Jarring? Disturbing? "…unusual."

"I made it. I – made that." He crossed the room to sit beside her on the bed.

The music had halted, so he reached past Aveline to wind it up. At the start of the melody, he sang along.

" _Masquerade…paper faces on parade, masquerade…hide your face, so the world will never find you_ …"

Aveline smiled softly at Erik. "You have a beautiful voice, _monsieur_."

If he smiled at the compliment, Aveline would never know. His eyes remained unchanged and focused on the animated monkey. She watched his transfixed gaze until the music slowed into silence.

Unable to stand the quiet, Aveline cleared her throat and spoke.

"Did...you…get much done in Paris?"

The spell broke and Erik placed the figurine back onto the nightstand. After reaching across Aveline to do so, he sat back beside her.

"I only saw Francine. I relayed my instructions to her, delivered your correspondence, and returned."

Aveline rose from the bed and walked to her door, ill at ease with sitting next to the Phantom on her bed so casually.

"Shall we continue your masterpiece, then, Erik?"

He stood, as well, and followed her. She saw it in his eyes. He smiled.

"I think _our_ composition is almost finished." He stopped beside her and offered his arm. She took it without hesitation. "And it will inspire a generation of musicians to come."


	15. Fluent, but Inarticulate

"In two weeks, a masquerade ball will be held at Versailles," Erik stated. "A fundraising campaign to restore some of the palace's original glory."

Aveline looked up from her dinner, a warm stew with hearty ingredients and savory flavors, surprised at the Phantom's sudden declaration. They were sitting together at the table at his room, celebrating their triumph in finishing their first musical piece as a composing team.

"Francine has procured invitations for us, and I have instructed her to place an order for your dress and accessories."

"What is the theme?" Aveline was happy to hear, after a week of no communication on the topic, that she would finally see above ground, again. She was mildly displeased, though, at having no say in the activity, the place, or her attire.

Versailles. After three months in the caverns, she would still not be seeing Paris. She did her best to suppress her disappointment.

"'Royalty Remembered,' I believe is the official title of the ball." Erik's voice had an air of ridicule.

"Ah…" Aveline replied with caution. "And my dress? What will it look like?"

Erik acted mostly indifferent to the upcoming event, but his eyes suddenly glinted in interest.

"I had Francine order you a gown in deep indigo. The theme suggests rich hues, not unlike the décor of my room." Erik used a gloved hand to make a sweeping gesture to the jewel-tone fabrics that hung along his walls. "There will be a few other _royal_ touches, as well."

"Did you design it?" Aveline raised an eyebrow at the Phantom's enthusiasm. She couldn't fathom him sketching ball gowns before bed.

"No, not exactly," he admitted. "But Francine's private seamstress will create a masterpiece in accordance with my vision, of that I have no doubt."

"And what will you be wearing?"

In the week that had passed since she had given him the half mask, he had yet to don it. A masquerade was a clever outing. Him wearing his typical full mask might be an odd fashion choice, but not wholly unexpected.

"Nothing indigo," he leaned across the table from where he sat, which usually prepared Aveline for the subtle flirtation to follow. "It's not my color."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile and gave her full attention to her soup.

Erik let the silence grow, until she had finished her meal. She dabbed her napkin to the corners of her mouth and then sipped the white wine in her goblet.

"You have not touched your little composition in the last few days, have you?"

Aveline looked into his piercing blue eyes.

"I'm surprised you've noticed, but, no, I have not had the time nor the inclination to work on that particular piece." She held her tongue, wanting to say more.

_Obviously, due to my collaboration with you, as well as lacking inspiration to begin the third and final movement of…_

"It has certainly developed from the simple melody that you played me months ago."

His words interrupted her thoughts. But she wanted to seize this moment.

"Would you like me to play it for you?" Her heart trembled in her chest. Now that the words were said, she wished she could withdraw the offer; but, paradoxically, she also wanted him to say yes.

"There's no need," he said dismissively, waving his hand in front of his mask, while leaning back in his chair. That meant his playful mood was over. "I can hear the music on the pages." He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. "Besides, it is evident that it is unfinished."

Aveline's heart stopped trembling and, instead, plummeted.

"I will, however, look forward to hearing the finished product. I think it might be an impressive solo debut." He spoke softly, sincerely.

Her whole body relaxed, then, and she gave him a grateful smile.

Although she had more questions about the masquerade, Aveline pushed the inquiries from her mind. She could tell that Erik was incredibly tentative about expounding upon that particular subject, and she was nervous that an interrogation would cause him to cancel the plans.

They spoke light-heartedly on safer topics. Months of conversations had desensitized the Phantom from reacting strongly to hearing about Christine or Raoul. She had led such a sheltered life, she had few memories that did not include either one or both of her parents.

"…the utter shock upon his face was worth my previous silence, finally being able to refute his dismissal of me in his own language! Oh! He went beet red, in embarrassment!"

The pair laughed in tandem. When their raucous laughter subsided, Erik spoke.

"What languages do you speak, then?"

"English, Italian, Spanish, and Latin. But my accents are pretty horrible. I definitely sound like a French woman speaking English, Italian, Spanish, and Latin."

"I should have found this out weeks ago!" His head shook in amazement. "When you tour, you will be embraced in every nation, French accent included."

"That's why mother wants me to stay with them in Cadiz. She thinks it will soften the French present in my Spanish. Not that Florence did much for my Italian."

Erik froze and stared at his dinner companion. Aveline realized he was no longer actively contributing to their interaction, and she paused in confusion.

"What did I say that made you suddenly uncomfortable?"

"I am…not ready to talk about whether or not to release you from my care this summer."

"Ah," Aveline understood his apprehension. _One step at a time. Let's wait until after the masquerade to address that negotiation._ "Well, we can discuss that later, there's no rush, at the moment."

She took a sip of her wine and contemplated how to change the trajectory of their conversation. She smiled and began.

"You've heard how I chided someone in Italian. But you should know some of my experiences learning Spanish!"

Erik leaned forward, his eyes already creased in amusement.

"Dime más, señorita."

Aveline laughed at the unexpected response.

"Oh! You've withheld crucial information from me, señor! What languages do _you_ speak?"

"English, Italian, Spanish, Latin…"

She was sure her surprise was evident on her face.

"You trailed off. Do you intend to continue your list?"

"German, Persian, Japanese… and a few others."

"Well, I am all astonishment!"

"Please, continue with what you were going to tell me about your Spanish instruction."

"Um, let me think…" Aveline gazed at the colorful fabrics adorning the wall behind Erik, finding a deep indigo color and wishing for the next two weeks to pass expeditiously. "Learning Spanish with my first tutor, an English woman who was my governess, was incredibly boring. So much so, that I trudged through most of my lessons with absolutely no enthusiasm for the language. She insisted that we speak conversationally in English, which was immensely helpful, but the Spanish I learned was fragmented and mostly based in vocabulary.

"As a result of her poor tutelage, a family trip to Spain was almost a disaster. Father took us all to vacation in Barcelona. When we met with a new business partner of his, at a dinner party in our honor, I spoke to our host in Spanish, apologizing for my limited ability.

"I tried to say that I was embarrassed for my father, because he had such high expectations for me." Aveline paused, awaiting a reaction from Erik. He waited for further explanation. "As a result of my fluency in English and my broken Spanish, I used the wrong word…"

The Phantom still did not register her meaning. She took a deep breath.

"'Lo siento, seńor, estoy _embarazada_ por mi padre…'"

Erik let out with jovial laughter at the blunder. Through deep breaths, he pushed out his words.

"How…old were you…at the time?!"

"Fourteen."

"And you...told him you…were _pregnant_?!"

"Not just pregnant, but pregnant by my _father_!"

Erik's eyes were closed and the laughs shook his mask. Aveline could faintly see scarred or burned skin within the mask's eye holes.

"Needless to say, our host was horrified at hearing me declare that I was pregnant as the result of incest by the man he was entering into business with. My father heard what I had said and had to spend the rest of the evening explaining my ignorance."

"And your governess?"

"I found out years later that she had been told to seek alternate employment. She left shortly after we returned home, taking a position back in England. The next tutor I had was more well-rounded and my studies were more closely monitored."

Erik stood and held out a hand to help Aveline to her feet.

"More closely monitored, indeed. I would have left that governess of yours at the dinner party!"

"No surprise, there," she murmured softly.

He led her to her room and stopped outside her door. She removed her hand from his offered arm, ready to say good night and walk in, but he grabbed her wrist. She spun around and he placed her hand on his chest. Her fingers felt the different materials, the embroidered grey filigree design on top of the linen fabric. When she looked with surprise from her hand to his eyes, she saw that he stared down at her. His eyes were full of…something. Full of emotion. Adoration? She bit on her bottom lip, wondering what to do.

"Thank you for a beautiful evening, Aveline," he spoke with the gentlest tone. His eyes looked like dark sapphires nestled in the mask. His other hand came to rest upon hers on his chest. "I am looking forward to escorting you to the ball."

She was uncertain how to respond to this overt display of affection, not wanting to hurt him nor encourage his advances.

"I…am…looking forward to it, too." She smiled and felt the hand on hers lightly squeeze in response to her words.

Before she could look away or pull her hand back, he retreated and left her at her doorstep, walking back to his own quarters. She closed her door behind her and sat at the vanity.

Her reflection was properly flushed, with rosy cheeks and wide, amber eyes.

That night, she dreamt of the masquerade.

The Phantom was in his half mask, wearing the red costume that she had seen in the locked room. Her dark indigo gown twirled along with her, as multiple dance partners spun her faster and faster around the floor. She could only barely see slivers of red in the growing distance, and she worried she was close to fainting.

Just before she fell, she was stopped in strong arms that held her up. Her head was still spinning, but she was able to eventually focus on her newest partner. Erik steadied her and led her in a slow waltz, giving her the time she needed to regain her energy.

She felt secure and allowed herself to fall into a deeper slumber, where no dreams disturbed her sleep.


	16. Drink it In

Aveline stood in front of her full-length mirror, aghast. It seemed the Phantom had taken the royal theme of the masquerade quite…literally. Her indigo gown was more ornate than she would have ever envisioned.

The color leaned a bit more toward navy than a dark purple, but, at different angles, she couldn't be sure that the taffeta didn't change to a wholly different shade. It seemed to have a luminescent gold that caught at the edges of the rich fabric. Along the straight neckline, ermine fur strategically hid the majority of her cleavage; the same fur lining was present at the bottom hem, as well. Finally, if the royal theme was not apparent enough, gold needlepoint on her sheer white sleeves and upon her waist and bodice had subtle fleurs-de-lis that appeared within the ivy pattern.

She looked… a bit ridiculous. Like a caricature of a royal court member. Had Erik consulted her, at all, Aveline would have tempered his vision with a touch of contemporary fashion. It _was_ glamorous, though. A glamorous costume for a costume ball.

A knock on her door snapped her back to attention. She picked up her skirt and carefully maneuvered to the door in her heeled boots.

"You look like a vision," Erik said, while stopped in the doorway. He wore a more conservative tux, but Aveline was shocked to see that he wore a new mask. It looked identical to the full one he constantly wore, but this one showed his mouth, everything from below his nose to his chin. His cheeks were still completely covered.

"Thank you, I-" _How do I ask this?_ "I notice you…modified your mask?"

He ignored her question, and handed her a mask that resembled gold lace.

"Are you putting your hair up?"

Aveline frowned, turning to look once more at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her hair was down, in loose curls. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him drop the hand that held her mask.

"You have every detail planned," she answered. "Do you not have a preference for my hair style, as well? A wig hidden in one of your rooms? Perhaps something to channel Marie Antionette?"

"No," he said forcefully. Aveline knew he detected the sarcasm in her voice. "Are you mocking me?"

She sighed, a feeling of guilt niggling at her heart. It was not his fault that his tastes did not match her own. He had ignored her previous question; she could do the same. She took the gold mask from his hand and laid it on the vanity, as she sat down.

"Give me another few moments, and I'll be ready."

Aveline piled her curls atop her head with a slew of pins, but left two long ringlets down to rest on her shoulder. The Phantom watched her from his standing position. His head was tilted in expressive interest. She wondered what he was thinking, but she worried it might be unwise to ask. She perched the mask upon the bridge of her nose, then used the black ribbons fastened to each end to tie it securely around her crown.

The trip to the surface was less dramatic than her original descent into the Phantom's domain. Three months. It seemed longer, to Aveline. They backtracked over the lake in the embellished rowboat, climbed the stone steps, and made their way through the neglected backstage of the Opera Populaire. Upon reaching the backstage area, Erik led her through a hidden doorway that brought them to a series of narrow hallways behind the various walls of the grand theatre.

"So this is how you surrounded me in my search for your black roses."

Erik held her hand, as he maneuvered through the secret passages.

"You did very well," he simply stated. "I was pleasantly surprised with how adept you were at solving my puzzles."

"Even though you thought I was my mother," she pointed out. He said nothing to that, so she continued. "Did you expect my mother to solve them as quickly?"

They had reached a doorway that opened up to the lobby of the opera house. He pulled her through, then stopped to address her question.

"She would have solved them much more quickly." He smiled, and Aveline wanted to let out a sigh of relief that she could finally see more than just his eyes. Deciphering his emotions would be easier with his mouth in plain view. She noticed, too, how his chin and mouth appeared unblemished.

_But why did he hide his entire face, then? What is under the mask?_

"Your mother lived and worked in this theatre. The riddles, to her, would have been more like recalling memories of her time here…" he trailed off, but Aveline knew he had more to say. "That's exactly what I wanted her to do," he murmured, taking her hand and leading her once more.

It was chilly, outside. But, unlike the last time she had seen the surface, no snow or moisture of any kind was on the ground. The last vestiges of daylight could be seen in the distance, with dazzling colors saturating the darkening sky. A covered carriage awaited them, and Erik quickly helped Aveline into her seat. He sat opposite her, with a stern look on his face. The cabbie had jumped down to do his duty, but with his passengers eager to be seated, he was only permitted to close the door and return to his perch.

Once they were underway, Erik leaned toward her and spoke in a hushed tone.

"What are you expecting, tonight?"

"I beg your pardon?" Her surprise was genuine, as she wondered what he wanted her to say.

He sat back and regarded her with suspicion.

"Allow me to answer for myself." His voice was now at its normal volume, matching her own. "I am expecting us to exchange a few pleasantries with other guests, enjoy dancing, and leave before the crowds begin to disperse. I am also expecting you to stay by my side and take my cues on when to leave a conversation that becomes too intrusive."

 _Another test_ , she surmised. The past two weeks, Erik had become more and more probing about her behavior in a public situation. She didn't plan to run from him. In Versailles. Amidst complete strangers. Truthfully, she did not think about any type of escape. She worried, without his tutelage, her newfound passion and aptitude might decline and leave her with the same options she had before that first night in the Opera Populaire: marry and recreationally teach piano to a newer generation of young ladies looking to add to their accomplishments.

"I expect that we'll enjoy the dancing and the refreshments, and that we will stay _late_ enough to satisfy the longing I have felt to have a night of celebration and society," she countered. "Unless you intend to bring me to the surface more often, in which case, I could be persuaded to reluctantly leave earlier than the revelers around us."

He smirked at her cheekiness.

"It sounds as though we will be both greatly enjoy our night, then."

"And what if I am asked to dance by someone other than yourself?" she asked innocently.

"You are occupied," he shrugged. "Either by myself or in conversation that would be rude to walk away from."

"And if I need to use the powder room?"

"I shall dutifully escort you to and from, guarding the entrance for you."

Aveline rolled her eyes at his fastidiousness. She abandoned their tête-à-tête and looked out the window to see the sun disappear below the horizon; she observed the same sky that had been so brilliant with color at the beginning of their journey now changing to a shade similar to the dress that she wore. Out of the corner of her sight, she could tell that Erik was still watching her. But he did not say anything or attempt to draw her attention in any way.

The carriage halted as they drew nearer to the famed palace. Aveline leaned out the window and saw that they were in a rather long line of carriages waiting to drop off their patrons. She huffed and sat back in her seat, impatient for their arrival.

When it was their turn to exit, the driver quickly opened the door, scarcely stopping fully before attempting to beat the masked man to the task. Erik gave a curt nod in approval, as he exited. He helped Aveline down, then handed the cabbie a generous payment.

They waited in line behind other couples and individuals, walking down the middle of the rich courtyard and toward the main entrance. There was an obvious pause at the doorway with each attendee. When it was finally their turn to enter, Erik pulled an invitation from his breast pocket and handed it to the attendant. The doorman barely glanced at the piece of paper, before waving them through.

Aveline had visited the palace before, but never at night. There was something especially magical about the candlelight illuminating the inside. The limited reach of the candles made the gold leaf glitter and animated the illustrations on the walls. Couples and groupings of elegant invitees all marveled at the opulence around them, as everyone made their way to the main ballroom.

Music from their destination became louder as they drew closer. The high ceilings echoed the sounds of string and percussion instruments. Aveline saw, as they entered the ballroom, that the amount of musicians was less than she had guessed in the hall outside. Couples were already dancing, waltzing with ease on the mostly-vacant dance floor.

The sound of Erik clearing his throat, rather loudly, refocused Aveline's attention. He stood beside her, offering his arm and waiting for her to take it. She smiled reassuringly and looped one arm in his. He led her to a refreshment table, where glasses of champagne were ready and waiting.

Aveline took a glass and sipped as she glanced around the room. As she suspected, most of the ladies were wearing traditional gowns with subtle nods to the royal theme. Tiaras on many heads, jewel-toned fabrics, and the occasional swatch of fur or militaristic touches… Aveline looked down at her own attire and prayed she didn't look too comical. Most of the men wore standard tuxedoes, although there was the occasional brave soul who accessorized with a crown or a brightly-contrasting sash.

Everyone had a mask. Most of the ladies had dainty, lace-like creations that were mostly transparent. A few refused to wear the decoration on their faces, so they held their masks on long wands in their hands. The men's masks were much more interesting and varied. The majority wore half-masks that left the bottom halves of their faces exposed. Some wore half-masks that were vertical, seemingly cutting their faces in half lengthwise. There were masks that only covered the eyes, hastily made by cutting a thin strip of fabric and then tying the material behind their heads. Only of couple of men wore something that covered most of their face.

She glanced over at Erik; they certainly were the outliers in the room, as far as fashion was concerned. He was watching the crowd, too, occasionally sipping from his own champagne glass.

The room became quite crowded, with the couples on the dance floor now needing to use conservative amounts of space to waltz. Erik and Aveline finished their drinks and set them back onto the refreshment table. Many of the people around them were engaged in lively conversations, but no one had yet approached them. Erik gestured toward the center of the room, and Aveline smiled gratefully. To continue standing in a popular area without purpose or someone to converse with would be embarrassing.

He gracefully moved with the music, as they wove through the dancing couples, leading Aveline to the middle of the dance floor. They joined the revelry, mid-song, with an enviable ease. Erik looked down at her occasionally, but his eyes constantly darted to the people beside them and around the entirety of the room.

After a few musical numbers, the orchestra took a short recess to refresh themselves, and the dancers dispersed to the edges of the large room. Erik and Aveline found themselves back at a refreshment table, selecting hors d'oeuvres from silver trays, when a voice behind them sounded out.

"Is that the reclusive O.G.? What a delight to have you with us tonight. We are honored, sir!"

They spun around and saw Francine Durand herself, adorned in a crimson gown with a ruffled ivory bodice. Her mask was a loose interpretation of the word, being such a sheer ivory gauze that all of her features could be recognized immediately. Her brunette hair was fastened into a strict bun at the base of her neck, with wisps of grey catching the candlelight like tinsel on a Christmas tree. She was plain, but those particularly shrewd and bright eyes gave her a distinction amongst the ladies in the room. Wrinkles at the edges of her eyes and around her lips were the only other clue to reveal her age. She smiled broadly at Erik, only sparing the slightest glance at his fair companion.

"Madam Durand, the honor is, quite obviously, mine," he graciously replied, bowing and then taking his former protégé's gloved hand and bestowing a kiss. Aveline saw the fire behind his expression and wondered if _Francine_ could see the Phantom's displeasure, as well.

"This is my pupil," he continued, placing a hand on the small of Aveline's back and guiding her closer. "Madam Durand, may I present Aveline de Chagny, daughter of the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny. She is visiting from Toulouse."

" _Visiting_? How quaint." The older woman's expression was completely disingenuous. She surveyed Aveline with a critical eye. "Well, if she is studying under the great Octave Genereux, she must already be a marvel. I must hear you play. We have so much in common, you and I."

Madam Durand's tone was almost accusatory, and she stared at Aveline until Aveline was forced to look down in discomfort.

"I would relish the opportunity, Madam," was the only response Aveline could offer.

"Your mother…" Aveline looked up into Francine's eyes, worry cresting on her brow. "The Vicomtess, is her maiden name Daae, by any chance?"

"Yes, madam, it is."

Erik had hardly moved next to her, and she felt his hand press harder against his back. She worried he would cause her to lose her balance, so she leaned back into his hand.

"Ah! How wonderful! The famous Christine Daae continues her legacy of _bewitching_ talent through a daughter who is her spitting image! How…" she glanced at Erik, then, narrowing her eyes, "felicitous."

"Francine," Erik growled softly. "Why are you here?"

The pianist took a step toward her former mentor and answered back in confidence.

"You asked for tickets to the masquerade. I enjoy a masquerade as much as the next person," she shrugged. "Surely you cannot fault me for that. And, given your last experience at a masked ball, I very much looked forward to the dramatic entrance I assumed you would make."

Aveline looked over to Erik in confusion, wondering what significance her statement held. Erik did not waver from staring down Francine.

"There will be no theatrics tonight, my dear," he said through gritted teeth.

"We shall see," Francine teased with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Erik," Aveline interrupted, tired of being overlooked in their dueling words, "I am thirsty, could we please get some champagne?"

"Erik?" Francine repeated. The expressions flashing across her face showed it all: confusion, realization, annoyance…and betrayal. Her eyes darted to an area behind them, only for a moment, and then she looked back to the duo.

Erik seemed to be hesitating, while Aveline bit her bottom lip. Before either of them could form a reply, Francine spoke, again.

"Monsieur _Genereux_ , or, Erik? Is it? I, too am parched." She moved to stand next to Aveline, linking her arm under the young woman's and pulling her just of reach of her guardian. Erik's jaw clenched, but he let Francine pull Aveline away to face him. "Why don't you bring us each a glass to toast your precious little _ingenue_?"

Aveline nodded, hoping that he could dispel some of his anger in the brief time it would take to get the drinks. The orchestra had started up, again, and couples were organizing themselves back into the center of the room. After the toast, she would ask Erik to dance, and they could remove themselves from this awkward situation. Now that they were aware of her presence, avoiding Francine would be manageable. Aveline hoped that this unexpected development would not cut her night short.

Erik, to his credit, understood Aveline's wordless communication, and he gave them both a curt nod of the head before heading toward a separate area that held the highly-sought-after champagne fountain.

"He gave you his name?"

Aveline shot a sidelong glance to Madam Durand, but she was watching Erik's journey. She couldn't fully read it, but she knew better than to answer. Francine was obviously quite hurt by this revelation.

Francine looked back to where Erik had been standing, searching something out, then smiled as a cat with cream. Her eyes locked back to Aveline's own.

"My, what a pleasant surprise! I see two more people with whom I would _love_ to be acquainted! Would you do me the honor, Aveline?"

Across the room, Aveline's parents regally walked toward them, all smiles and excitement. Her mother wore a golden gown with touches of ivory and lace. She held a simple white mask on the end of a dowel, carried in one hand far from her face. Aveline's father had a new tuxedo, with a golden cravat to match his wife's ensemble. Perched at his hairline was a gold mask that looked to be purely decorative. They had both seen their daughter, and their movement through the crowds showed their purpose.

Aveline looked to the Phantom, who was walking toward them. He must have seen her parents before retrieving the drinks, because he held nothing in his hands. They were balled into fists at his sides, as he watched them approach. His head whipped to find Aveline, and he sent daggers to her wide eyes. The stare was incendiary. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He narrowed his eyes and turned on his heel to disappear into the sea of masks behind him.

"I hope you are as good of an actress as your mother was, dear," Madam Durand murmured alongside the bewildered young woman.


	17. No Turning Back

"Mama!" Aveline embraced her mother, while her father beamed at her and waited his turn. "Papa!" she exclaimed and turned to her father for another enveloping hug. "Oh, I've missed you so much!"

They pulled away from each other, but not before Raoul grabbed hold of his daughter's hands.

"My darling girl, what a sight you are! I could hardly believe that was my little girl, from across the room!" He smiled tenderly at Aveline, but then a hesitant look flashed upon his face. "May I see you without your mask?" He went to reach for the accessory on his daughter's face, but she leaned away from his hand.

Aveline smiled. "Papa, is this not a masquerade?"

"Yes," he conceded, seemingly wrapped up in distracting thoughts. "I just thought…well, never mind! I am happy to have my family reunited, again."

"You look lovely, _mon précieux_ ," Christine chimed in. "Such a…wonderfully ornate gown. You look so mature!"

Aveline heard Madam Durand clear her throat loudly. _It cannot be avoided forever_ , she supposed. She stepped back to the side of her false mentor.

" _Madam et Monsieur_ , permit me to introduce to you the distinguished Madam Francine Durand."

Raoul took the pianist matron's hand in his own and bowed as he kissed her gloved knuckles. Christine gave a ladylike nod of acknowledgement.

"My wife and I are pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Madam-"

"Please, call me Francine, I insist."

"Very well," he nodded.

"Aveline has written to us about you, and she is always most complimentary," Christine spoke up. "Reading her words of how you challenge her and bring her to a level of talent that she never thought she could achieve…it warms this mother's heart immensely, to know that you have been caring for and tutoring our little girl with such faithful attention."

"Yes! And nurturing her ankle after she sprained it! However can we thank you for such a kindness?" Raoul stepped closer to the famed pianist, in genuine gratitude.

"Oh, nonsense," the older woman shooed away the praise, "I did nothing more than my duty. Your daughter is such an…intriguing find. I never believed I would have the opportunity to help sculpt such a remarkable young talent!"

Christine smiled at the lavished compliments. "And now we hear that you are composing together? How marvelous! We cannot wait to hear how Aveline's playing has evolved in only three months!"

Madam Durand shot Aveline a smug smile, but Aveline felt her face flush with embarrassment. _Another piece of information she apparently did not know…_

"Oh, Mama, it's nothing, really."

Raoul held out a hand to his daughter. "May I have this dance, _mademoiselle_?"

Aveline looked to Francine, unsure if leaving her mother alone with the vengeful woman was wise, even in a public venue. The hardened woman nodded for her to go, and her father led her away.

They danced smoothly around the floor, with her father making light conversation. Most of Aveline's answers were short and on more than one occasion, she had to have Raoul repeat the question he had asked of her. She blamed it on the loudness of the music, which seemed to satisfy her father's confusion. He smiled at her instead, enjoying their time together.

Her thoughts raced with the options laid out in front of her: leaving with her parents and returning to Toulouse, insisting that she needed to stay in Paris to continue her tutelage, or figuring out some happy solution to bring about compromise for everyone involved.

She watched Madam Durand and her mother in animated conversation. Someone studying their conversation would be able to tell that the older woman was scrutinizing her mother. At times, Christine looked mildly uncomfortable at something that was said, but in the next moment, the two women looked like old friends. Aveline could only speculate about what their conversation entailed.

Out of the corner of her eye, as her father spun her toward the opposite corner of the room, she saw Erik watching her from a shadowy doorway. A group of ladies chatted in front of him, most likely unaware of his proximity. His arms were crossed over his chest, and, when their eyes locked, he motioned for Aveline to meet him where he was. Before Aveline could send a silent answer, her father spun her around to complete the musical number with flair.

The orchestra played the final notes, and Aveline and her father bowed to each other before clapping politely for the musicians. He pulled her back toward her mother, and Aveline looked over her shoulder to see Erik, again. But he had vanished from his last position. _What do I do?_ The words repeated in her mind, as she worried her lip.

When they returned to the two ladies, Madam Durand was the first to speak.

"Your daughter is a younger version of her beautiful mother, is she not?"

"Indeed, she is," Raoul confirmed proudly.

"I have some of my handsome father's features, too," Aveline contested, grinning up at the man she loved so dearly.

Madam Durand leaned into her, then, searching for differences between her and her mother.

"I suppose so…his eyes, and your hair is a few shades lighter than your mother's," she murmured mostly to herself. Aveline shrunk away from her gaze and stood next to her mother.

"We had planned on staying at the same hotel as we did months ago," Christine interjected, seeking to change the subject that made her daughter inexplicably uncomfortable. "But Madam Durand," a throat-clearing noise from the nearby namesake was heard, "oh, I'm sorry – _Francine_ so graciously offered us one of her guest rooms."

"But, the madam lives in Paris," Aveline reminded her, placing a hand on her mother's arm.

"One night, and we'll be on the train tomorrow afternoon," her father answered for her mother, seeing the tension in his wife's expression.

"It will be worth it," her mother added bravely, "to stay longer with you, discuss your vacationing with us in Cadiz, and perhaps," she looked to Madam Durand. "Perhaps we can hear you play?" She smiled at her daughter, again. "I've missed hearing the piano ring out through the house."

"Your mother has missed it so much that she has been playing our phonograph nonstop!"

"It doesn't hold a candle to listening to you, though," her mother admitted sadly.

"When Francine wrote to us of this masquerade, we thought it was the perfect way to be reunited with you, and for us to finally meet your famed instructor!" He nodded appreciatively to Madam Durand. "Thank you, again, for coordinating everything for us."

"I'm just pleased everything went according to plan," she slyly answered, shooting another glance at Aveline.

" _Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,_ " a handsome young man with a white half mask approached Aveline. "May I have this dance?" He held out his hand.

"I-" Aveline hesitated, remembering the Phantom's instruction not to accept any dance invitations besides his own. She looked to the three other people in her party, who all looked at her expectantly.

"Go," her mother insisted.

Aveline smiled politely at her dance partner and followed him to the dance floor. They began waltzing, moving in an easy rhythm. So easy, that Aveline didn't notice how he had maneuvered them across the room. He hadn't said another word to her, and she didn't feel obligated to initiate any conversation, either. Her parents were speaking with Madam Durand, who was looking over their shoulders to watch her faux protégé.

In the next instant, her oddly silent partner spun and let go of her, which disoriented her enough to allow another man to take his place, effortlessly picking up where her original partner had left off.

"You will come with me this instant, Aveline," the Phantom hissed. His jaw was clenched in anger and his eyes stared across the room, most likely at the woman who had betrayed him…one or both of them.

"I can't!" she protested. "Erik," her voice soothed, and he looked down at her. "I cannot just disappear. Madam Durand knows about you, and they will come after us."

"We won't return to the Opera Populaire, I will take you-"

"Erik, stop! Please," she pleaded. "That would ruin all of our plans, and you know it." He frowned but did not disagree with her directly. "How am I to become the performer you want me to be, while in hiding?"

The dance continued, with a tense silence. Erik held her tightly, as if he was afraid she might vanish before his eyes.

"Do you trust me? At all?" she asked, worry laced within her words.

He did not answer, as he had been so apt to do.

"You will leave with Francine, and I will retrieve you at her home, is that clear?"

"My parents are staying the night with her…"

"In Paris?" His tone was acidic. Disbelieving.

"Yes. Again, I cannot disappear while under their supervision. They leave tomorrow afternoon. They'll expect me to stay with Madam Durand… _Francine_ ," she corrected herself, derisively. "I will return to the opera house tomorrow night."

"Will you?" Under the sarcasm was a note of hopefulness.

The song ended and couples pulled away from each other to bow and applaud. Aveline did the same, bowing and nodding to Erik, before turning to walk away. Erik grabbed her wrist and looked into her eyes with apprehension and silent supplication.

"I have to return," she whispered. He let her go and she wove back through the crowds to the waiting party.

Aveline lost track of Erik completely, after that. She looked for him in the corners of the room, in the shadows. She scoured the masked faces, looking for the mask resembling the one she had seen every day for the past three months…but there was nothing. No sign. No trace.

At the end of the night, Aveline rode in a large carriage with her parents and Madam Durand. Her mother's head leaned against her father, but her eyes watched Aveline with a sleepy happiness. The ride back to Paris was filled with light conversation, mostly commenting on the innocuous events of the masquerade.

Arriving to the strange residence, Aveline was again bombarded with worry about maintaining the illusion that this had been her dwelling for the past few months. Looking around, she took in the details presented to her.

 _It's a well-situated property,_ she realized. It shared a street with several large, beautiful homes. Aveline was surprised that it wasn't larger, but, then again, Francine did not have family. She guessed that she wasn't much for entertaining, either. The home was a moderate, two-story petite mansion with grey slate on the roof and white brick on the exterior. The front garden was pretty, if a little over-worked. She and her parents followed the curved walkway to the front, where a middle-aged woman opened the door to greet them.

"So, shall we see your room, before retiring for the night?" Christine asked.

"Of course!" Madam Durand excitedly responded, leading Aveline to stare at the woman in wonder. _What on earth is she going to show them? Some random guestroom?_

The madam led them from the entryway through a hallway leading to the right. The room at the end of the hall was spacious, with its own _en_ _suite_ bath. There were large curtains draped artistically in the corners of the room and everything was tidy. Aveline imagined having spent her time in this smaller, but elegant bedroom. It did not look lived in, though. There was no way her parents would-

"Oh, what a sweet room! How perfect!" Christine exclaimed. She crossed to the wardrobe, opening the doors. Inside, the long-lost garments Aveline assumed she would never see again, were hung neatly. "Where is your favorite dress? That beautiful yellow and grey dress we had made before your trip here?"

"I-" _It was destroyed while I searched the opera house for the Phantom's black roses…_ She needed to think of a better reason. "Remember how I told you of my spraining my ankle? I stupidly tripped on the hemline of the dress, which also resulted in a large tear. I'm afraid it wasn't fixable, was it, Madam?"

"Completely beyond reasonable repair, so sad," Francine confirmed, nodding sorrowfully.

"We will replace it then," Raoul spoke up. "I will leave you with enough money to have another made. Or you can order another design, whatever suits you, dear."

All four of them left to follow the housekeeper to a room on the second story, where Aveline's parents would stay the night. Everyone said their good nights, and Aveline went back down to her fictional home away from home.

The housekeeper or another maid had turned down the covers of the bed, and there was only one candle lit at the end of a silver candlestick. It flickered on the nightstand, illuminating only the brilliant white sheets of the bed. The room looked more foreboding, now, with the corner curtains shrouding much of the room in complete darkness.

"Your mother was a better actress, by far," she heard Madam Durand call out behind her. Aveline turned to face her, wringing her hands nervously. "You'll have to do better than _that_ , if you are to be associated with _him._ "

"Why did you do this?" she asked quietly. "What did I ever do to you, to deserve your ire?"

"My ire?" the older woman repeated, looking shocked. She shook her head in disbelief. "I have done everything to help you, you ungrateful brat."

Aveline prickled at the insult, but something the Phantom had told her popped into her mind. _Despite her lack of social graces…elegance…_ She had thought it to be a cruel representation, at the time, but now it seemed like an apt description.

"You have the world at your feet, little girl," Madam Durand continued. "I did not have your connections, your breeding…your money." She spat the last word out.

"I know," Aveline whispered almost imperceptively. Almost.

"You _know_? What do you mean you know?"

"I read your biography. And…Erik filled in some of the more secretive elements to your rise to fame."

"Of course, _Erik_ did." She rolled her eyes. "You have parents, nobility, beauty…why are you with him?"

"Because I wanted to be like you!" Aveline shot out. Her teeth clenched inside her mouth and she forced them open with deep breath. "I was eleven, when I first saw you. You were amazing. I was utterly inspired. Last year, when I wrote to you, to ask you-"

"You mean your _father_ wrote to me," she interrupted, to point out the mistaken credit.

"No, actually, that was me," Aveline bit back. "I wrote to you, _as my father_ , to see if you would possibly _condescend_ to tutor me. I wanted so desperately to learn from you, the most successful female pianist in the world."

"Oh, my," Francine leaned against the door frame, placing a hand on her heaving chest. "I am so sorry…"

"Yes, I know what happened next," she confirmed, cutting off the apology. "I think both of our plans were twisted into Erik's will. You only meant to rub my parents' happiness in his face, and I only sought to be your pupil."

Madam Durand did not respond, unable to look Aveline in the eye.

"However," Aveline pressed on. "I _have_ been his pupil. He has taught me more than I ever imagined..."

Francine's head snapped up, then. "I know all about that, Aveline. I learned from him, too. He taught me so much…too much." She walked up to the young woman and grabbed her shoulders. "This is your one chance. You can leave tomorrow with your parents. I will explain that I have taught you all I know, and that I am retiring for my health. You can continue to compose on your own…make your own success. You have the resources to do so!"

Aveline took a step back, pulling away from her, and the madam dropped her arms.

"I thank you, for your consideration of my situation," Aveline said seriously. "But I will be returning to the Opera Populaire tomorrow night, after my parents have gone."

Madam Durand sighed. "You are so young…so naïve."

"I need him, and I think he needs me, too." Aveline looked toward the window, wondering where Erik was and what he was doing. "I have never been so passionate, so inspired…not since I was eleven. When I watched you." She looked back to Francine, again. "I had my parents procure copies of all of Octave Genereux's compositions. How on earth am I supposed to walk away from working with the man, himself?"

"He will break your heart." Francine spoke each word slowly, forcefully.

"I am sorry he broke yours," Aveline conceded. She took the woman's hands in her own. She held the talented, hard-working hands with reverence. "I think he regrets it, as well." Francine looked at her quizzically, making sure her words held sincerity.

There was one thing left to say, so Aveline took another deep breath, still holding her idol's hands, and spoke her last truth.

"My mother broke Erik's heart, but she didn't mean to. She loved my father, and she could not be devoted to another. Erik broke your heart. He respected you, but he should not have led you on. I am sorry for you, that you had to bear his bitterness from my mother's rejection. You taught him, as well. You made him understand that he went too far. He realizes that, now. He will not hurt me or use me, as he did with you. Thank you for making him a better man."

Tears were running down the proud woman's cheeks. She pulled a hand from Aveline's grip and used it to wipe the trails of indignation away.

Aveline dropped the remaining hand and folded her hands together.

Francine looked past her, then, to the space behind her.

"Now you know. You're welcome…Erik."

She turned and exited, as Aveline spun around to see Erik emerge from the corner of her room.


	18. Down Once More

**Hello, readers!**

**Just a quick AN. I love "Versailles," the television series (thank you, Netflix!). I very much picture this version of Erik to be like Fabien Marchal, and Aveline is a bit similar to Sophie. I think, after finishing these two POTO fics, I'll be writing a story with those two characters. That's all.**

**Happy reading!**

**Jenn**

* * *

Erik wore the clothing Aveline had become accustomed to seeing. The black hooded cloak with the sleeves removed and the jagged, frayed edges. The black shirt underneath, and the black belt that cinched both garments at his waist. Black gloves and black baggy slacks that were tucked into his black boots. Head to toe darkness. No wonder she hadn't seen him hiding in the recesses of her room.

Only his mask was different than usual, as he wore the same one from earlier that night, with his mouth and chin exposed.

"Did you set all this up?" she asked him, plainly. "Is this another test?"

He walked past her wordlessly to close and lock her door. After doing so, he returned to stand opposite her.

"I did no such thing," he said in a hushed voice. "If I had known _this_ would be the end to our night, I would never have let you leave my home. Our home," he added, as an afterthought.

Aveline shook her head. She removed her gloves and mask, placing them on a table near her. She sat down at the small vanity in the room and set to work removing her curls from their restraints. Erik watched her silently, then cleared his throat before speaking.

"I'm sorry that our night together was ruined."

She did not respond. It felt wrong to admit that Francine inviting her parents to the masquerade ruined her evening. It didn't, not completely. _It ruined his_ , she acknowledged.

"I'm sorry that we only shared two dances, and that both times you were distracted or upset," she countered. "And, while dancing with my father, _I_ was so preoccupied, watching for you, watching Francine speak to my mother, that I wasn't able to fully enjoy myself, either."

She frowned. Apparently, her night _was_ rather ruined, after all. Aveline leaned back in the chair, now that her hair hung loose around her upper body. Erik, she could see in the mirror, chose to sit on her unmade bed, facing the window. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared straight ahead.

"You heard everything I said to Madam Durand," Aveline spoke up. "Was anything I said displeasing…or wrong?"

"No, it was-" he stopped himself from finishing. "I'm glad you are willing to come back to me."

"Once I do, will you ever let me come up, again?"

"Of course." He looked over at her, then, smiling. "You must improve your Spanish in Cadiz this summer, before you start your first tour. We can't have you spouting out anything embarrassing."

She muffled her laughter as best as she could, turning in her chair to see the Phantom's smirk of self-satisfaction. When she calmed down, they both sat and enjoyed the contented silence between the two of them. Erik stood and spoke first.

"I'll leave you, now. You must rest."

Aveline stood, as well, moving to meet him as he walked toward the door. He stopped before unlocking it, his hand still outstretched. He clenched it and held it to his mouth; he turned back to his pupil and held both of her hands.

"I will see you tomorrow night, Aveline."

She nodded. "Good night, Erik."

He bent down, and she knew what was coming, but she was unsure what to do. He kissed her cheek quickly, hesitantly. She felt her face heat up, but at the same moment he dropped her hands and left the room. He walked into the dark hallway, disappearing into the shadows, his footsteps quieter than a cat's. She shut the door and locked herself in, hoping to sleep deeply.

The morning came too swiftly, and Aveline found the light that flooded her room to be blinding. She had forgotten to draw the thicker curtains, and the gauzy white material that presently covered the window did nothing to block the sun. Her eyes squinted and blinked rapidly, as she tried to pull the rather unfortunate-looking puce curtains towards the center. The light in the room turned a sickly pink, as the sun pushed through the curtains, but it was not quite as garish as before.

Unable to return to sleep, Aveline regretfully pulled out one of her precious dresses from the wardrobe. She donned a burgundy dress with black and ivory trimmings, brushed the tangles from her hair, and set her tresses in intricate twists around her face. She needed to be out of her room quickly, being unsure of Madam Durand's state of mind.

Her parents were already in the parlor, dressed finely and waiting on more company.

"Aveline! You're up already? Are you anxious to spend every minute of our visit together, Princess? Or has Madam Durand's instruction brought forth yet another miracle?" her father teased.

"Hilarious, Papa," she teased back, sticking out her tongue. Her father laughed, but her mother shook her head in disapproval.

"Good morning!" Francine's voice rang out. "I see that I am the last to join in the fun. Well, no matter, I know you are eager to hear your daughter play."

Aveline's brows rose in shock. Was this the same woman who had cried in her room last night?

"We are," Christine replied tentatively, "but perhaps after some breakfast?"

"Of course, where are my manners? I am so excited for you to hear how she has improved, I forgot all about food!"

The housekeeper ushered the four of them to a small dining table and the cook brought out their prepared courses. After breakfast and light conversation, Aveline was practically pulled to the madam's grand piano by her supposed instructor. Her parents sat on the sofa in the same room, while Francine stood alongside the piano bench.

Aveline wasn't nervous, which was odd. She knew Madam Durand would be judgmental and her parents would be expecting to hear significant improvements in her playing. But, with such extensive practice in the last three months, she was not perturbed by any of her surroundings. No matter how unfamiliar.

She played her favorite composition by Octave Genereux. The one she had begged her parents to find for her, after hearing the great Madam Durand play it in concert. They had heard her play it many times, but never with such fluidity and passion. Her fingers flew with ease over the ivory keys, and her head and shoulders moved in rhythm with her arms. She danced with the music as her partner. Before playing the final chord, she impulsively added a _glissando_ for dramatic flair.

Her parents applauded her loudly, bursting with pride. Francine smirked.

"I'm not sure Monsieur Genereux would appreciate the improvised elements you added to his work."

Aveline smiled back, conspiratorially. "I'm sure he wouldn't."

"Another!" "Encore!" Her parents called out. Aveline looked back to Francine.

"Perhaps you can play something for us that is original?"

The challenge was there. She thought about the composition she and Erik had just finished. It was magnificent. If Madam Durand felt threatened by Aveline's ability, showing off a newly-created piece might alienate her further. An idea suddenly struck her.

"This is unfinished, as I still have yet to compose the final movement, but I am happy to share it with you."

Aveline played her work in progress. The fearful first movement was a stark contrast from the jubilant piece she had previously played, which served to show how much she had developed in weaving emotion into her craft. The second movement brought them to a happier mood, with its playfulness and excitement jumping off the keys. She paused at the end, then dropped her hands in her lap.

As expected, her parents gushed their support for their only child. Aveline looked at Francine, hoping for a more truthful assessment.

Francine nodded cordially, the smile on her face only evident from the slight creases at the corners of her lips. "How will it end?" she asked seriously. The double meaning clear to only herself and Aveline.

"I don't know, yet. But I am excited to get there."

The day dragged on, with a light meal at lunch, a walk in the neighborhood, and her parents finishing their packing.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, _ma fille précieuse_?" Christine pleaded, pressing the last items into their trunk for Raoul to close. "This was too short a visit!"

"I can escort you back in a week, if you'd like to come with us," her father added, then grunted, as he fought to close the overflowing trunk.

"I'd rather stay here, but I'm so excited for Cadiz in only four months! I hear August is the best time to enjoy the beaches in Spain. And, by that time, you will have been there for two months. You should be able to show me all the best sights and beaches that the area has to offer!"

The chatted more on the subject of their upcoming trip, until the carriage arrived to take her parents to the train station. The heavy trunk was loaded, and Aveline and her parents made tearful goodbyes.

Once the carriage was out of sight, Madam Durand gestured for Aveline to go inside. The young pianist hesitated, wondering what to do now that she was once again alone with her. She held her hand to her brow and looked toward the sun. It couldn't be more than two hours before sunset. Aveline had to get back to the opera house. She bit her lip and followed her fallen idol into her humble home.

"You did…well," Francine complimented.

"So did you," Aveline pointed out, folding her arms. "Where did you get my clothes?"

"I've had your trunk since the morning you arrived in Paris. Octave… _Erik_ had a coach bring it to me with a brief letter to let me know that I was to hold onto it and that he would meet with me later to give me further instructions."

"He asked you to place them in a wardrobe as a decoy, in case my parents ever came to town?"

"No, that was my doing. I couldn't bring ruin upon myself. Telling them of the Phantom's involvement or giving them any hints to the truth of what happened would have landed me in prison for conspiracy."

"Ah," Aveline rolled her eyes. Another thought came to her mind, and she blurted it out without pausing. "In my first weeks here, there was a day that Erik came to see you. He was gone all day, leaving me alone in that dank underground. What happened? What all did you talk about?"

"That was the first time I saw him, after you arrived." She narrowed her eyes at the pretty young girl. "I found out you were still with him, and I was unhappy to hear that news. Let's leave it at that. You aren't entitled to know more."

Aveline nodded in acquiescence, not fully satisfied, but wishing to be on better terms with a woman that her heart still admired. She abandoned her defensive stance, letting her arms fall to her sides, then clasping her hands behind her back.

"What did you think of my playing?"

Francine scoffed. "Why do you still care about my opinion? I am not your teacher."

Aveline was disappointed, but she didn't say anything. She crossed to the closest chair and sat. She was surprised when Francine joined her, being seated on a chaise adjacent to Aveline's position.

"This is not easy for me," Francine admitted. "You understand that I have many reasons to dislike you, don't you?"

Aveline nodded, staying silent.

"I cannot believe…I never dreamed he would find someone else. His memory of your mother infected every aspect of him. But, as the years passed, he mentioned her less and less. I thought that was because…" she trailed off. In the next second she shook her head and once again spoke in a steeled tone. "Never mind what I thought. We parted ways, and I assumed we would both lead amicable, solitary lives."

Francine looked down, then. "And then your father's- well, _your_ fateful letter arrived." She tilted her head up, looking toward the ceiling. "I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had never shown it to him…"

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, then calmly looked toward Aveline.

"You play beautifully."

Aveline's jaw dropped at the immense praise from the woman who barely deigned to give a compliment.

"Three months with him, and your talent…" she shook her head. "Has he compared us?"

"No," Aveline lied. _She would be devastated if she knew the things he said._

Francine gave her a knowing smile. "You lie. But no matter, your good breeding wouldn't allow you to repeat unkind words or place yourself on a pedestal."

Aveline blushed and nervously wrung her hands in her lap.

"What did he have to say about your composition?"

"Not much," Aveline frowned. "He said that it was obviously unfinished and not worth listening to until it was complete. He said he could hear the music on the pages. Rather condescending, actually."

"That sounds about right. I liked it. I will look forward to hearing the final movement," she rose from her seat and walked toward the stairs, stopping before ascending. "If it ends how I imagine it will, I may want a copy. The feelings it stirs are more than a little familiar."

She walked up slowly, never turning back, while calling out with louder and louder words.

"I've ordered a carriage for you, for an hour from now. He'll take you there. If you would like to take any or all of your possessions, feel free to do so. If not, I suppose I can hold onto them a little longer. I am going upstairs to rest, and I won't see you off. Farewell, Aveline."

The hemline of her skirt lifted away from view, and Aveline heard Madam Durand cross the hallway on the second story to her room and the door close sharply behind her. Aveline walked back to her room, wondering if she should take or leave her belongings. She used the powder room one last time, relishing the amenity. She took the gold lace mask she had laid on the vanity in one hand and walked back to the parlor, to be seated in front of a window.

The carriage came, delivered her to the _Opera Populaire_ , and left. She looked up at the rubble that blocked the entryway, then turned toward the exit path Erik had used to bring them out the night of the masquerade. Only one day ago. It was twilight now, though, but the only men out on the streets were the lamplighters. She hurried to stay away from their attention, pleased that she had worn a dark-colored dress.

She shivered as she circled the large opera house. Past a large pile of rocks that looked like it blocked the alleyway between buildings. Through the wrought iron gate that she had once run through to find freedom. Around the various obstacles in the overgrown conservatory, and through the glass corridor where she had spied the useful bag of sand. Various panes of glass were still broken or cracked, and wind whooshed through the tunnel, chilling Aveline.

She made it to the performance hall, passing the small room where she had used four black knight pieces on a chessboard to conquer the white king. When she glanced to where the gameboard had been, she saw no trace of its existence. She hurried past the library, remembering to stop by on another occasion to browse its contents. Through the hallway, past rooms she had once explored, through the hallway entrance, and, finally, into the grand foyer.

Nothing around her was lit, and she wondered if she should call out for Erik or wait for him to find her.

"Welcome back, Aveline."

She turned toward the voice and saw him walking toward her from the tunnel under the large staircase. He held out his hand. A familiar gesture.

 _More than a little familiar_ , she thought.


	19. Epilogue

**So... here we are at the end. The character arcs were mostly cinched up, and there were no more real conflicts that I could use to make the story continue…except one.** **And it's written into this final page.**

**I don't anticipate I'll be writing any more POTO-based fanfics, after I am finished with my sequel to "His Consolation Prize" - a "Love Never Dies" rewrite. But, if I eventually do, the best way to be in the know is to follow me as an author.**

**Thank you for all the support! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Only took me almost seven years to complete! Haha!**

**I remain, readers, your obedient servant,**

**Jenn**

**And now, for the finale of "Music in the Dark"…**

* * *

Romance was not exactly the Phantom's _forte_ , having little idea how to successfully woo a woman with his limited graces. He was in love long before he saw any trace of it in her. It was a slow, agonizingly slow, process that developed alongside the partnership they developed. It grew from a mutual respect and admiration. And it grew from their strengthening trust in one another.

When Aveline had returned from her month-long stay in Cadiz, Erik had once again breathed a sigh of relief that his pupil, his partner, had kept her word. The next time she had requested to leave his domain, he had reluctantly agreed, working out all of the details for her holiday in Toulouse. The third time she had gone, he let her make the majority of her own plans, offering help only when asked.

He, however, did not enjoy _his_ trips to the surface. Unsurprisingly, he had not offered to take her up, again. And she did not press him. After her achieving some artistic success, she doubted she would rarely, if ever, see his underground dwelling again. Perhaps she could have her own home in Paris, like Francine, where Erik could meet with her in private and where she could occasionally host her parents.

And, of Madam Durand… Aveline maintained her distance, not wishing to cross paths with the bitter woman, again. Francine played her part, passing correspondence back and forth between her and her parents through Erik's rapt attention. He no longer read Aveline's letters, choosing to gift the rose stamp and gold wax to her.

As the months passed by, Aveline grew uneasy about what to do with Erik. They had not discussed what role he was going to play in her rise to fame. Would he abandon credit for the compositions they had written together? How could Aveline introduce Octave Genereux into her world? What would happen if her parents found out about her connection to the infamous Opera Ghost?

Erik, as expected, had carefully-laid plans for every one of Aveline's questions.

He would be an anonymous partner on any musical compositions that he and Aveline wrote together. It would be up to her to convince her parents that the silent contributor was, in fact, her instructor, Madam Durand. He did not need the additional income.

Octave Genereux would be as reclusive as ever, with he and Aveline only meeting on two very brief occasions, through Francine's connection with the mysterious composer. He would never meet her parents, for obvious reasons. And the withdrawn reputation that Genereux had cultivated would serve that end.

The last question was the most troublesome. If her parents somehow found out… Neither of them could think of a way to quell such a monumental dilemma. Thankfully, it was hypothetical. They could only hope that it would remain that way.

Aveline and Erik continued to write, finishing two more original works. By herself, Aveline composed four short movements, but they were not finished to her liking. She looked at them individually, four pieces to a puzzle that she had yet to work out. Erik gave her the time to do so, offering no critique. When she finally brought the confounding question to him, he had shown her how best to string one movement to the next, brilliantly combining the different elementals of music into one moving piece.

She had yet to finish the third movement of her first original composition.

 _How will it end?_ Aveline remembered Madam Durand asking her. _If it ends how I imagine it will, I may want a copy. The feelings it stirs are more than a little familiar…_

Aveline had yet to understand the cryptic words of the disillusioned artist.

It was two years after her first step into the ruins of the opera house, two years after she had scoured the remains of the of the destroyed building for black roses… after meeting the infamous Phantom of the Opera, who actually turned out to be her favorite composer. And now, it was her turn to perform onstage.

Madam Francine Durand had officially booked the venue, although, the funding actually came from an anonymous source. It was a conservatively-sized concert hall, seating less than two hundred people. Christine and Raoul had made the trip up from Toulouse, eager to support their only child. Madam Durand was there in spirit, but claimed to have fallen ill. Too sick to attend, she had left Aveline in the care of her parents.

Christine finally relented, her desire to see her precious daughter trumping her reluctance to stay in Paris, and she and Raoul now had a favorite place to stay in the City of Light. When they were visiting, Aveline stayed with them. It was usually no more than a week at a time, a couple of times a year.

Erik was in attendance for her debut, too, Aveline knew. But he secluded himself to the back corner of the room, entering after the concert began and leaving before it ended.

Aveline played a total of eight musical numbers. Two were from the classical era, three were works by Octave Genereux, another two were collaboration pieces between herself and an anonymous contributor, and the final one was her original work.

The concert went splendidly, and, after the standing ovation, her parents were practically bombarded by well-wishers who were determined to have their praises passed on to the Vicomte's beautiful and talented daughter. A few of the bolder men asked if she was being courted. Raoul, the loving and protective father that he was, did not bother to give any of the would-be suitors the information they asked for.

Aveline was elated, and she made excuses to take a carriage to check in on Madam Durand and tell her of the night's event. She promised her parents that she would return in the morning. The carriage dropped her off outside the _Opera Populaire_ , and she had taken the secretive route inside.

Erik had embraced her, after she made her way back into the opera house, and she had held him in response. That was it. _That_ was the moment. When her heart began to consciously seek his affection…

It was inevitable, but neither of them were prepared for the announcement that the _Opera Populaire_ would finally be rebuilt to its original glory. It was also to be given a new name: the _Palais Garnier_.

Aveline asked Erik what they were to do, now that the opera house would be filled with workers. He assured her that they would be safe underground, being too far away from everything being built on top of them. There were times that they heard voices on the other side of the vast lake, but no one was prepared to build a boat in order to traverse the waterways.

Erik had to be more aware of the time of day, frequently checking his pocket watch when needing to go up to the surface. He could only leave at night, now, when the workers had been released. Necessity dictated that this arrangement would not do, and that new accommodations needed to be made.

Aveline was visiting Toulouse, while Erik met with Francine.

In an unusually sympathetic move, the madam had offered them her home. The changing hands of the opera house had softened her; she was unable to hold onto her bitterness, in the face of such strong sentimentality. She had another small estate in Reims, where she would retire until the whole business of the remodel was complete. She left instructions with her loyal housekeeper, who was already privy to most of the odd dealings that the rich woman had with the masked man over the years.

When Aveline returned at night, as arranged, Erik was in the street. He instructed her to remain in her seat, gave the driver instructions to go to Madam Durand's address, then sat himself beside her.

"Madam Durand's home? Why?"

"I cannot advance your career further, if I have to worry about the onslaught of men that stand between us and the rest of Europe."

"But she won't want me there! She was so uncivil, last time…"

"Francine will not be there. It will just be you and me," he promised. "As well as her housekeeper and cook, who will now function as _our_ staff." He smiled at her, and Aveline smiled back. He had not worn the full mask since before the masquerade. "It will be a nice change of pace for us, won't it? Until we are able to return."

Aveline didn't say anything to that, preferring not to get his hopes up. She did not believe she would ever stay another night in that dark lair. Visiting was palatable, but there would be enough time for her to purchase her own estate in Paris before the _Palais Garnier_ opened.

More years passed, and the venues grew in size. Sometimes both Raoul and Christine traveled to wherever Aveline performed. And, of course, she still stayed wherever one or both of her parents were. She toured every large city in France, always with her mentor. He made it a habit to schedule their arrivals and departures as late as possible, in order to conceal his presence.

It wasn't long before Christine was confronting her daughter about the idea of marriage. Her father was decidedly less interested in marrying his daughter off, but he did not discourage his wife's efforts. Aveline was gentle but firm in her refusals of all prospects. She was devoted to her music…

…and to her true mentor.

Being in Madam Durand's home in Paris, in an actual above-ground estate, Aveline was able to properly flourish. She had gardens to walk through, shops to visit, and a beautiful sky to daydream under. Her brightened mood improved her perception of everything and everyone around her, especially Erik. He was delighted on her behalf, but he mostly missed the privacy and familiarity of his underground home.

The Paris opera house was being restored at a miraculously rapid rate, although the politicians taking credit for its restoration admitted that the original structure already had excellent, strong bones from which to build upon.

Six years after construction began, and a total of eight years after the Phantom and Aveline's first meeting, the _Palais Garnier_ opened in resplendent fashion. As the daughter of both the celebrated _prima donna_ and the major patron of the former theater, as well as an esteemed musician in her own right, Aveline de Chagny was invited to perform for what would be her largest audience yet. She would be one of multiple acts scheduled for the gala event; she couldn't help but wonder if her mother had also been asked to perform. Not that she would ever agree to do so.

Aveline had a dress designed specifically for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Working with a trusted seamstress, she picked a luxurious turquoise silk to make the shift of the dress. Over the slinky material, there would be tiered layers of sheer black mesh netting, with intricate silver embroidery and clear crystals. Thankful that no one wore bustled dresses any longer, she chose a pattern that paid homage to the Japanese kimono-style dresses that were quite in fashion, at the moment. The bustline was straight and conservative, but her shoulders were mostly bare, with only capped sleeves in the mesh netting to help hold her dress up. She would also be wearing long black gloves whenever she wasn't playing.

The night of the gala, Aveline was to perform third, after an aria by a current up and coming soprano. Christine and Raoul secured seats in the front center of the orchestra section.

Aveline watched her parents from offstage in one of the wings. She had only been granted enough time to perform three songs. She had chosen one by Octave Genereux, one new piece by herself and her anonymous composing partner, and the final would be one of her original works. She hoped it would be well-received.

A few rows behind her parents sat Madam Francine Durand. Aveline's eyes widened in shock, to see her former idol in attendance. Unless she was mistaken, this would be the madam's first time witnessing Aveline play in a professional setting.

As the soprano finished her final strains, Aveline scanned for one more face: Erik's. She saw the mask, the only light-colored thing he wore, eerily floating in the very back of one of the balcony boxes overseeing stage left. It looked odd, with the light out and no one sitting against the rail. Most of the patrons in the full theater probably assumed that whomever had purchased the seats had not shown up.

 _Of course,_ Aveline remembered. _Box Five._

The soprano bowed graciously to the generous applause she received, soaking in the attention. Aveline was instructed to enter on stage right, as the opera singer exited on the opposite side. The young pianist clenched her teeth in annoyance, as the diva waited until the praise died down to a polite rate before finally condescending to leave.

Aveline confidently walked to the center of the stage. She looked up, again, to Box Five, where she could see that the Phantom had moved minimally closer. She moved her attention to her parents, who were proudly beaming at their daughter. Madam Durand looked positively jealous, and something else…worried?

The strangest feeling sent a chill up Aveline's spine. Like déjà vu. But she couldn't fathom why.

The piano was wheeled downstage by several stagehands, while Aveline removed her gloves and laid them along the music rack. She gracefully sat at the provided seat, adjusting it to be perfectly positioned for her to use the keyboard.

The first song was, yet again, her favorite by Genereux. Her favorite work by Erik. The song she had chosen to play for him on the first night she had met the Phantom of the Opera. It had become a signature piece for her to play at every concert, as it had once been for Francine. Although she had not written or rewritten one bar, one note, she still felt a strong sense of ownership over the music that had inspired such strong passion inside of her. The applause she received was polite, and the audience cut themselves off quickly, eager to hear more.

The second piece was a never-before played composition that she had written with Erik for this very night. It was lighter, quieter, than the bursting intensity of the first. It had an air of romance to it, but done very subtly. The notes were calming but also joyful. It received more praise than the first, with various members of the audience shouting out compliments. Aveline waited patiently for the cheers to subside, while staring at Madam Durand. She was looking down at her program, her eyes seemingly fixated on one line.

" _I will look forward to hearing the final movement. If it ends how I imagine it will, I may want a copy. The feelings it stirs are more than a little familiar."_

The last musical composition was Aveline's sole creation. It was the first piece Aveline had dared to compose. The one that took the longest for her to complete. Eight years.

The first movement: fear. Feeling trepidation, as she entered the Phantom's world for the first time. Worried that she would never see the light of day, but be trapped in his will forever.

The second movement: delight. Realizing that she had more potential within her than she ever would have known. Reconciling that her prison did not have to be her end.

The final movement: peace. The opposite of fear. This took the first movement and recast the chords in a major key, but with more seriousness and tranquility than the second. It was Aveline's contentedness with her new life with Erik. The man who once tried to control her, now her source of comfort and inspiration.

When she finished, there was silence. Aveline took a breath and looked toward the audience. She saw scattered tears on the men and women, including her parents. Madam Durand, too, had a somber expression, but she did not meet Aveline's eyes.

Aveline stood, carefully moving her seat backward to walk around it. The applause that followed was not thunderous; it was steady. Strong. And everyone, in solidarity with her, rose to their feet. Many of them, she could see, had their mouths open in awe or shook their heads in amazement.

She took her gloves from their perch, bowed lightly to thank the crowd for their adoration, and crossed the stage. She looked up to Box Five and saw the white mask nod in acknowledgment. She smiled back and placed a hand over her heart, as she walked offstage. Behind her, the standing ovation was still going strong, even though the next act, a troupe of actors, waited to begin their own program.

She waited in the dressing room that she had been given, taking deep breaths, trying to relive everything she had felt while on that grand stage. When she heard a knock on her door, she knew who it was before she called out for the visitor to come in.

But it was Christine who walked in, looking both proud and a bit flustered. Aveline was surprised to see her mother, as they had agreed to meet in the lobby at the end of the gala. Surely, there had to be at least three more acts to perform, before the night would be over.

"You were so brilliant, _ma fille précieuse_! My wonderful, talented daughter!" her mother gushed. They embraced, and Aveline felt the warmth of love spread in her chest.

Her mother pulled away, cupping her daughter's cheek in her delicate hand, and stared into Aveline's eyes with a tentative expression. She let go, eventually, and went to sit down on a chair nearby, while Aveline took the cue to sit at the chair at the vanity, facing her mother.

"How long have you known him?"

"Known whom?" Aveline asked innocently.

"The Phantom of the Opera. The Opera Ghost."

"What are you talking-"

"Don't, Aveline," her mother sighed. "Just…don't. I need the truth from you, right now, or I will involve your father in this _immediately_."

Aveline felt a chill throughout her body. She had the gloves on, which provided some cover, but there was still plenty of exposed skin that would show the raised bumps on her flesh to her increasingly suspicious mother.

"How did you find out?" she whispered. Christine's eyes narrowed in response.

"I _lived_ here, Aveline. _I_ was the one who experienced _everything_. I told your father about Box Five being the Phantom's favorite viewing spot, but he probably didn't notice the extra attention you gave to the mysteriously dark seats in the same area Box Five used to be." Christine clenched her gloved hands in her lap, and Aveline gave a limp smile at the nervous habit she had learned from her mother. "I noticed. How could I not? I used to look for him up there, too."

"He…" Aveline started, but hesitated, unsure of how much she should reveal. Her mother's lips were in a taut line, waiting for her to continue. "He came to Madam Durand's, on occasion. I asked her to introduce me to Octave Genereux, because I knew they had worked together for years. She was the only pianist he trusted to play his newest compositions. Apparently, they knew each other from your time at the _Opera Populaire_."

"O.G…." Christine whispered under her breath, staring past Aveline to the mirror behind her.

"Yes," Aveline confirmed. "He…he thought I was you, actually, when we first met."

Her mother's mood soured considerably, at this revelation.

"He asked me to sing for him," her daughter admitted. "It didn't go very well." Aveline blushed at the memory. So long ago, but still so fresh in her mind. "He was disappointed, until he heard me play one of his songs. The one I played tonight, as a matter of fact. He offered to supplement my teachings, helping me to unlock emotions from deep inside me to pour into my playing. He's an excellent tutor."

"When?" Christine interrupted her story, asking firmly.

"Eight…years…ago?"

Christine gasped, standing to her feet, her features showing the fury she felt as the result of her daughter's betrayal.

"How could you! Do you know what he did to me? To your father?"

"You told me NOTHING!" Aveline took a breath. She and her mother both needed to calm down, or someone would arrive to check on the commotion. "Erik told me everything. That's his name, by the way."

"I know," Christine flippantly said. Her volume was quieter, now, too, but the anger was still present in her voice. "He is _using_ you. He only wants revenge upon me and your father."

"I think that used to be true, in the beginning," Aveline nodded. "And, later, I worried that he was only interested in using me like a puppet for his music. But then, things changed. We are…partners. The second song I played tonight, and all the others you've heard that were composed by myself and Madam Durand? Those collaborations were never with her, they were with Erik."

"You lied to me. And your father. You deliberately hid this from me. And had I known-"

"What, mother? What would you and father have done? Taken me back to Toulouse? I would have found a way back to him. Hunted down Erik? We would have fled together. Hasn't he been through enough? Does he never deserve to be happy? Don't I deserve to have happiness in my life of my own making?"

Christine's jaw dropped in disbelief. She knelt by her daughter's side, holding onto the vanity for balance.

"Aveline, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," _Oh, God. Give me strength._ "I am happy with him, as he is with me."

Tears of outrage caught in her mother's eyes. "Do you…love him?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking deeply into her mother's tearful gaze. "I believe I do."

"Have you…seen him? Actually seen him?"

Aveline frowned bitterly, disappointed in her mother's response to such an important declaration.

"No, I have never seen him unmasked." She looked up in thought. "I don't think I ever shall. But I don't need to."

"You don't know-"

"Mother," Aveline pleaded, looking back to her mother. "I didn't fall in love with his mask, or with his hands, or with his stature." She took a deep breath and continued. "I fell in love with his passion, his inspiration, and his never-ending support. He saw beyond my lineage, past my mother's image. Your face," she added with a winsome smile. "He was patient with me, and I was patient with him. And, now, we are both content."

Her mother was dumbstruck, with one neat track of tears on either cheek. She was no longer crying, but she was obviously upset by this unexpected news.

"Please, can you be happy for me, if not for him? And, if my happiness includes him, can you please accept that?"

Christine stood slowly, a little shaky on her feet.

"I'm not sure I can," the weary mother replied. She returned to her chair and sat as though exhausted.

The two ladies sat in silence, until Aveline spoke up.

"Will you tell Father?"

Christine sent a sharp look to her daughter. "I should, even though this would both crush and infuriate him." She sighed, then, holding a hand to her forehead as if she had a headache. "If I did, he would not rest until the Phantom was either dead or behind bars. We thought he was already dead. Your father would not allow for even an ounce of uncertainty, if he knew the Phantom was back in our lives."

"Then you cannot tell him." Aveline's tone was firm, resolved. "It took you eight years to find out the truth. I am sorry that I lied to you, but I knew that you would never accept it. Erik and I have been so careful. And it sounds, to me, as if you only found out because of the very personal connection you used to have with him. Papa must never know. Please, Mama?"

Christine gave her a dubious look.

"I am glad you have Papa. He loves you dearly, and he protects and supports you in all you do. Erik is my partner, and I wish to stay with him."

Christine gave a slight nod. "This is not the last time we will speak on this, but, for now…" Her mother stood and walked toward the door. "Now that I know, tell him, tell _Erik_ that I will be watching." She turned the doorknob in her hand and opened it. "Your father and I will see you in the lobby, soon." She stopped before exiting and let go of the door to address her daughter. "I love you, so very, very much. My beautiful daughter, my only child. I think you are making a mistake. But, if I can't change your mind, then I will wait for you to come home to me. Please don't let him control every aspect of your future. I couldn't bear to watch my daughter go down a path that I knew would destroy me."

Her mother didn't wait for an answer, choosing, instead, to exit the small room.

Aveline twisted in her seat to face the mirror. She rested her head on her gloved arms, taking even breaths and trying desperately not to cry. Her mother had left the room without closing the door, but, only seconds later, she heard the soft click of the lock in the background.

"You did very well."

She glanced up and saw the Phantom's reflection in the mirror behind her. She stayed seated.

"Mother knows."

He moved toward her, from the center of the dressing room to right behind her chair. He lightly rested both gloved hands on her shoulders.

"I heard…some of what was said," he admitted. "Would you actually run away with me, if your parents tried to part us?" He spoke playfully, teasing Aveline to cheer her mood.

Aveline gave a sad smile, but no spoken answer. She smoothly stood to face him. Her hands went to his shoulders, with one circling to rest behind his hooded neck. He smiled and closed the little distance that lay between them, placing his hands on her waist.

"I told you, years ago, that I felt whole, again," he said, softly. "I said it when I still saw you as your mother. But you've changed me, so that I no longer feel like an unworthy creature. You repaired my soul so that I could be complete for you. Completely yours. I didn't think that was possible."

She pulled him down and kissed him tenderly, in response.

 _La fin_ . The end


End file.
